Quiet Plans That Change In the Night
by The Fly and the Lion
Summary: Katniss is in love with Peeta - losing him has made it clear. When he miraculously reappears at rebel HQ, the couple is forced to weigh their relationship against everything the war represents, knowing things might not turn out they way they dream.
1. The Sweepers Have Returned

It's like fire running through my fingers, my toes, my lungs, my cheeks. I sit on the edge of the bed, my feet barely touching the ground, my shoulders weak and heavy. Peeta is somewhere, captured, tortured, hopefully alive, and my whole body aches with it. Maybe he's no longer alive to suffer the Capitol's punishment. Maybe he's in so much pain he'd be better off dead. Certainly he'd be better off without any of this. Peeta was always too good for this life, for this world. How someone as wonderful, kind and sincere as him could end up here makes me uneasy and laden with guilt. I'm the reason he's in the middle of this. I'm the reason he's in pain.

And I'm sure he's in pain.

The Capitol rarely ever steps aside while they're made a mockery. It didn't take much for that man in District 11 to get his head blown out, and Peeta has done far worse – he's been a part of my life. I sucked him in, I let him creep into my dreams, my waking hours, my heart. I don't know how I could have ever been so selfish. Why didn't I just leave him be? Let him go? I should have publically declared complete disdain for him, told the world that I didn't love him, that I was through with Peeta Mellark in my life and didn't want anything to do with him ever again. Maybe that would have kept him from the certain horror he's in right now.

I take a deep breath and let my hands sink further into the thin mattress. They take on more of my weight as my shoulders hunch lower with the burden of those I love.

Those I love.

I love Peeta Mellark. And not in the way I love Prim or my mother or even Gale. Especially not in the way I love Gale. I decided it was him I was destined for when I made the choice to fall in line with the rebellion, as if Gale was the only one with the ability to take on such a massive, desperate, bitter task. I thought of Peeta as someone that the Capitol forced on to me – someone that took away my freedoms and subjected me to a life I never wanted. Gale represented the person I wanted to be, the fighter, the hunter, the adamant and intelligent machine holding her family in place.

Until I realized that Peeta might never be in my life again.

It's funny how it really does take losing something to realize just how badly you want it. Or maybe it's just because you think you can't have it that you want it so much more, but either way, I now understand that I need Peeta. I _want_ Peeta.

I love Gale, too, and my feelings are still frequently hard to decipher, but I know that I've never thought about Gale the way I do Peeta. In the arena at the Quell, when I heard Gale's tortured voice through the jabberjays, my body rushed forward without thinking. My heart shattered, the adrenaline exploding, my arms ready to fight. He has been my best friend for a long time now, especially at a time when I needed him more than I thought. Even though I love my mother, taking her place as the head of the house was too difficult and constantly too lonely. Gale was a refuge, a partner, a sign of hope and accomplishment in a life that was otherwise without those sentiments. He was strength incarnate.

But I've never yearned for him this way. Never wished he was in my bed, holding me, whispering my name, saying the perfect words to lull my heart into a nightmareless sleep.

A gentle knock on the door pulls my attention briefly from these thoughts and I take a hard, solid breath.

"Come in," I call.

Haymitch walks in, looking haggard and smelling just as bad. The showers are more for display in this place and neither of us are looking our best. However, it's not the deep circles around our eyes, the layers of dirt under our fingernails or piled on our skin, or the tangles and shreds of hair left on our heads that reveal the true hardships. It's the sagging way we walk, the constant downturn of our mouths, the distance in our eyes. I might hate Haymitch, but I think he hates himself more.

"You look worse today," he says gruffly.

I don't even have the energy to scowl. "Thanks. You, on the other hand, must have finally contacted your stylist. Body odor suits you."

I take it back. I do have the energy to scowl.

Haymitch sits down next to me. My heart suddenly begins to beat at a pace I can hear. He usually just stands in the doorway, or leans against a wall away from me. He never gets close. This is a position he would only take if he thinks he needs to be there to catch me, to lean in, to hug me. I don't like it.

"Katniss…" he says quietly, but I can tell he's not sure what to say next.

"What is it?" I reply, with a distinct edge to my voice. I'm too angry to be sad, or at least, too angry to let on just how sad I really am. I'm pretty sure Haymitch knows, but I'll never open up enough to confirm it for him.

"The sweepers have returned."

The sweepers. Ten rebel volunteers headed out almost a month ago to explore the districts…or what was left of them. Communications have been down with our spies in the Capitol for a while now, and the only way, the best way, we could reconnect was to meet up in person. We didn't know if the Capitol spies had the same idea and were headed our way as well, but time couldn't be wasted. It was immediate and desperate need. The volunteers would have to make their way in carriages and on foot, with one quick ride in the hovercraft when it could be used without giving us away, the journey taking at least a couple weeks through hostile district territories. Simply said, it was an incredibly stupid and dangerous task. Naturally, I wanted to join them, but no one would hear of it. They said I was too valuable, and that they needed me here in the dark, endless pits of District 13.

Still, I spend most of my days wandering the underground maze, fiddling around with Prim, and pacing the floor behind my locked bedroom door. It doesn't matter how many times I promise not to escape, Haymitch knows me too well to buy it.

I look into Haymitch's weary eyes and notice a strange glimmer in them that I don't expect. His face hasn't shown any sign of humanity in ages. There has been no sign of emotion, least of all…dare I say…hope?

"What happened? What did they find? What's wrong?" Suddenly there are questions in me, fueled by this odd expression lodged in Haymitch's face.

"The Capitol is more powerful than we thought – their numbers are staggering. And they've shut off even more of our trade roads. We'll be lucky to cultivate enough crops to sustain the communities here for little more than a few weeks. The Thirteeners are talented, but still, we relied on those grain stores."

These facts are not related to the twinkle in his eye. I can see it – it hasn't changed.

"Did they connect with the Team?"

Conversations have become more valuable here than they ever were above. There is a sort of shorthand speak that comes with our planning, a simplified way of identifying what doesn't need further description. Various groups, for example, are often labeled in the most basic ways. The masses that have fled during the destruction of each district are called by their corresponding numbers: the Ones, the Twos, the Elevens, the Twelves. I am, of course, The Bird, and Finnick and Haymitch, along with a few of the other rebellion masterminds are collectively called the Brain. The spies that have stayed behind in the clutches of our enemies are called the Team, and we rely heavily on communication with them to keep the large crowd hiding out in the underground of District 13 alive. Finally, of course, If we want to speak of those that are the cause of all this, the drones that pursue the bloodshed and control, in honor of the President we call them the Winters.

It was the Team we'd lost contact with, and the Team our rebel volunteers were headed in to find.

Haymitch has paused too long. "Yes…they connected with them."

I take in a small breath hearing the words unsaid in his short sentence. Just like the shorthand, there is a language of the unspoken that you begin to learn as well.

Death has become too much of a reality for it to affect me much anymore. I've been lucky, though. Unlike most of the people here, I haven't suffered loss in the same magnitude. My sister, my mother and my best friend are intact. The people I've grown to trust – Finnick, Haymitch, Effie – are all alive and as well as one can be. There's only one person I am without, and incredibly, he is the one person I feel most empty separated from. Peeta lingers on my mind once again and I don't try to shake him away.

"Pierot was already dead when they got there," Haymitch continued, "but the rest of the Team was relatively unharmed. The Winters got word of him, Pierot. We still don't know how, but they knew something was up. That's why they killed him. They didn't even give him a chance to defend himself."

I watched Haymitch, stared intently in his eyes for that little light to move, to change, to give itself away when the hope they carried was about to be explained.

"I'm sure the leak came from the bottom up, mostly because someone of Pierot's background and training would hardly give himself away. And like a good breadcrumb trail, the Winters would have followed each little piece to the top – to Snow's inner circle, to Pierot. Yet, for some reason, they didn't make a slaughter of it. I think Snow decided to get rid of the part that he thought could harm him the worst, but he's left the rest of the ants to report back to their homes. Surely he's hoping they'll lead him to us, because Pierot wasn't about to waltz him into the arms of the rebellion leaders. He's not stupid, Snow, no matter how hard we try to hate him into it."

Still nothing in those eyes. I was starting to believe I'd imagined it.

"When our volunteers arrived, they waited in the mountains and watched. They signaled, but there was no reply. That's how they knew something was seriously wrong. Each District was a wasteland, barren and coated in ash – it wasn't good, Katniss. Honestly I don't think they would've even gone the whole route if they had another way, but the Capitol is our only supply source anymore, you know that. Without food and ammunitions, and most importantly intelligence, we don't stand a chance of winning this war. We can have all the cunning we want, but we'll starve to death too quickly to use any of that wit without the few precious supplies the Team can muster."

Why is he explaining all of this to me? As if I doubt the rebel volunteers for heading all the way to the Capitol or any of the actions they might have taken. Sure they'd been gone a long time, maybe too long, but this was the nature of things these days. Time passes irregularly. Sometimes too slowly, sometimes far too fast. I am in charge of food rations, it's something to keep my mind from idling on Peeta's strong face and deep, blue eyes, but with so little food as it is, my job is done before I can even think of a way to drag it out. So I just sit around, wanting to have a clear head, but knowing it's useless to try and think of anything other than him…other than the truest and kindest and most beautiful man I know. For me, time moves in booming clicks and clanks, in seconds that last for hours, in distant, black voids.

I still don't reply to Haymitch, just watch. He's closer to the give now, I almost think I can feel it.

"Burggen was the one who found him, but the Winters found Burggen before he could tell the our rebels much of anything. They got bits and pieces, broken signals and strange tilts of light as if someone was writing a sentence and leaving out all the vowels. Then…" his voice hitched. I braced myself. "Then Snow took off in his hovercraft."

"Who did Burggen find?" I ask unexpectedly.

I wait for a reply, but he just sits still, eerily close to me and in sad concentration.

"What happened then, Haymitch? After he left? Why did he leave? Why does that matter? Where was he going? Who was Burggen with?"

"Snow would never leave unless he knew it was going to be so bad even _he_ wouldn't want to stick around for the stench of blood. As soon as the rebels realized he'd left, explosions took out four, leaving only five left to go in and find the Team. Clem lost his hearing in one bombing, sort of like you did in the first Hunger Games, except he walked away with both of his ears intact…just not the drums. He wasn't much help scouring the buildings when you needed so desperately to hear the slightest drop of a pin. So he stayed in the hills and kept watch. If no one else came back in 24 hours, it was his job to return here to Thirteen…to let us know that we didn't stand a chance after all."

Here, strangely, his eyes break open and I don't understand what could be hopeful about anything he just said. Maybe I'm misreading it. I can't be certain of anything, but I think of Peeta again and the way he always told me he loved me without turning it into a dramatic production of guilt and sap and embarrassing words.

"It was almost the end of the 24th hour…god, those men like to cut it close, but Markim made it back to Clem."

A mix of emotions flood his face. Only Markim made it back…which means the rest must be dead. Eight out of ten killed, just like that. I suppose that's the way it happens anymore – swift and in large numbers. Haymitch will avoid saying it, but I know he's devastated. Jenau had volunteered, against Haymitch's pleas. She had loved him, something no other woman had ever done before. But mostly, I think he might have loved her back, and that was the real feat in their story.

"He was hurt. Badly. Clem said he knew the second he saw him that Markim wouldn't be making the journey back to us, but the person with him, the man carrying him, would."

Haymitch looks straight at me now. Intense, but careful. My heart pounds and the blood running through my veins feels foreign. I don't remember the last time I felt like my body was actually alive. He pauses and surveys my face. Maybe my eyes are betraying me now, because I'm certain there is a glimmer of hope in them, too. He has to be talking about one person…

"Katniss, it was Peeta."

I know my breathing has stopped. Anything I might try to hide is being spilled across the table at this moment. Fear. Hope. Pain. Love. Pleading. I still don't speak.

"Peeta is alive, and he's here now."

My eyes search Haymitch one last time. What's the catch? He must be destitute. Starving. Black and blue. Surely he's not well enough to walk after all that torture in the Capitol. But he had carried Markim back into the mountain post where Clem was hiding. He couldn't be that hurt, could he? No…I wouldn't be so lucky. I wouldn't deserve it. I've been too bad to Peeta and there's no way I could go on unpunished for it.

Then another knock at the door. A strong, but calm knock. I know that knock.

Haymitch and I both look towards the door, then at each other. My eyes must be wild like a predator ready to pounce its prey. I'm sure I don't look too far from one either. The two of us stand and I walk briskly towards the door, glancing at my mentor twice before putting my hand on the knob. I take in a deep breath. What if I'm wrong and it's not him? Punishment, remember? I don't deserve him to be on the other side.

My fingers wrap tightly around the silver handle. I bite my lip, hold my breath.

The heavy metal door creaks open slowly and I strain to see around the edge. There, as tall and handsome and perfect as I hadn't dared to hope, is Peeta Mellark. And he smiles.


	2. Precious Seconds Are Wasting

There's no time for pausing or thinking or considering one action over the next. Precious seconds are wasting here. I leap from around the door and throw myself into his arms, my head burying in his chest, my hands pressing as tightly as possible around his body. I can't seem to hold him close enough. I feel his hands frantic on my face, hard against my jaw and forcing my mouth forward. I don't resist. Our lips crash together in a fiery reply, moving too quickly to be doing anything but their own sort of business.

Peeta has to know how much I mean this.

I can feel it in the energy, in his hands and lips and chest. The tightness with which he holds me and the tightness with which I hopelessly cling back. My tongue can't sink deep enough into his mouth, his can't dance enough with mine. Small noises are escaping me, as if I'm trying to pull open a door that won't budge. I want him, so badly. I want all of him, every inch of him, pressed so hard against me I can't breathe. I don't even care about breathing. I want to feel his arms, his hands, his fingertips. I want to feel his thighs, his back, his hips. I want him. Oh, god, I want him.

I'm so overwhelmed with this emotion I think I might even cry. My mind is useless, clouded, explosive. Peeta's eagerness to kiss me back is filling my lungs with some sort of wispy flurry and I don't think there's room for anything else, least of all air.

My hands tangle in his shirt, pulling and stretching it towards me. My fingers uncurl and move towards his lower back, finally finding a brace on his hips, not quite as thin as I've seen them before, but still boney and lacking the muscle he'd had. His hands lock around pieces of my hair, cupping my head in position for his perfect, warm lips to continue ravishing mine.

"Oh, Katniss," he moans through our kisses, his voice a collision of uncontrollable passion, tumbling relief and complete, burdening pain.

I respond with a moan of my own, a loud one. I'm afraid that if I say his name he'll disappear, that I'll realize this moment is one of my imagination and I'm still sitting on the bed waiting for Haymitch to tell me that my love is dead. So I form no word and allow that noise is all I have. And in that incoherent, wordless noise, in that moan, I load every single emotion I can fathom and hope Peeta can understand.

I don't know how much time is passing, but I know that Haymitch can't be comfortable watching our bodies crush around each other this way. No one could. This doesn't embarrass me, though, and I make a note of it. Normally I would blush and pull away from Peeta at this point, but not today. Nothing in the world can remove my hands from his body, nothing can pry my lips from his mouth.

Well, except for Peeta.

He slows himself and I feel his hands releasing me gently. He doesn't pull away, but rather moves to a less fervent pace. Maybe he's suddenly doubting this greeting, or maybe he just needs a breath. I could probably inhale once or twice, but I don't want to take too long of a break from his face.

"Katniss," he whispers, his forehead falling on to mine. I close my eyes and take a small breath.

"Peeta," I finally reply.

"It's so good to hear your voice," he says gently. I can feel something electric in the way he speaks, an intensity that wants to compose every word perfectly. "That day we were separated I felt like part of my chest was ripped out. Even if I knew that you were with Haymitch, I wondered who would be there to wake you up from your nightmares, who would talk sense into you when you tried to do stupid things, who would remind you every day that you're worth fighting for. If I wasn't with you, how could I be certain…how could I…how could I know that you were alive? What if you were dead?" He clenches his jaw and I can see his eyes fill with blackness at the thought.

"I'm not, I'm here." I manage to get out.

He smiles halfheartedly. "It wasn't until I saw Burggen that I realized there was certainty after all. He didn't have time to explain much to me, but just seeing him meant you had to be alive. A rebel force could only exist if you did. And I knew I had to get back to wherever it was you were."

I crush my body closer, as if that is even possible, and nod my head in agreement. I still can't seem to form much by way of words, but I let out one more small sound and feel the tears beginning to make their way to the surface. I want to scream. I want to shout an obscenity. I want to tell him how much I love him, how much I owe him, how much I regret every minute of his life he's felt pain because of me. I want to remove all of the bones in my body and let the remaining putty reform into everything he's ever wanted. I want to tear off his clothes and feel him next to me, over me. I want to swallow his mouth again and kiss him until neither of us can breathe anymore. I want to collapse. And I want to cry.

"I love you," he says, convicted and strong.

This is it. I'm done in. My legs give out and my head drops into my shaking hands. I feel Peeta's arms wrap around me, not to catch me, but to support me, to let me cry in safety. This time the noises coming from me are full of dreary sighs and guilt. Guilt that he can still possibly love me after all of this. Guilt that he ever loved me. Guilt that it took this long for me to realize just how much I love him. I sob into his arms as he kisses the top of my head, my forehead, my nose. There's an awkward shuffle behind us and I remember Haymitch. Still, I don't blush. Only a short time ago I'd committed to myself that I would never let him know just how sad I was, but here I am, fully enveloped and displaying every deep, dark woe that has ever been inside of me and I'm not ashamed of it in the slightest. Peeta does that to me. He makes me honest, which is ironic considering our history.

Peeta continues to whisper my name and repeatedly tells me that everything is okay now as I continue to layer his chest and arms with my tears. I haven't cried like this since the Quell – when I thought he was dead – and it makes my whole body hurt. It feels good to cry, though. Since Peeta was kidnapped I've been numb. I lash out in anger regularly, but it is only a mask for the real pain I feel inside. Sometimes I lay in bed and stare at the grey, cement ceiling, wishing I could let even just one tear fall, because maybe that would mean an end to this impossible wandering in my heart. Now, feeling his warm body pressed against mine, his strong voice speaking only to my ears, it is as if each tear carries five pounds with it. The cumbersome weights my shoulders had bore earlier are lighter by the second.

Haymitch coughs this time and I'm not sure if it's real or a distraction. I force my weeping to cease and Peeta helps me wipe some of the salt water from my cheeks. He kisses me on the nose a final time and pulls me closer to him.

"Thank you, Haymitch – " he begins, but he's cut off.

"Nothing like the ol' starcrossed lover routine to spice things up," Haymitch says gently, his voice groggy and gruff. It sounds like he's been crying as well. There's a coughing, a sort of clearing of the throat, and a short pause as he composes himself. "Well, I hate to break up this reunion, but I think it's important to fill Katniss in so we can be ready to move first thing." This is obviously directed at Peeta, but I don't feel like being curious. Instead of Peeta being left out of the plan, this time it's me.

Peeta chuckles. "We'll meet up with you in a bit," he simply replies.

I look towards Haymitch now and realize I am right – his eyes are puffy and stained red. He _was_ crying. He pauses at Peeta's words, as if he's not sure he can agree to them, but nods before it looks like he cares too much. He sets a hand quickly on Peeta's shoulder as he passes and closes the large door behind him.

Not that we acted much like anyone was around at this reunion, but suddenly the reality of being totally alone in this passionate moment is nearly too much to handle. I don't know what to do first – to kiss him again or start talking.

I don't think I feel much like talking. That can wait till later.

Peeta lifts me from the floor and leads me to the edge of the steel bed. The mattress is thin and practically useless, and the red blanket that covers it has sections worn so thin I can see clear as day between threads. It doesn't do much to warm a girl up at night, but the feeling of something wrapped around me makes up for it. Now that Peeta is sitting so close to me, though, I remember the real comfort of his arms wrapped tightly around me and assure myself the tattered cloth won't get nearly as much use anymore.

"I still can't believe it's really you," he says as his hand reaches towards my cheek. "I wonder how long it will take before I finally accept you're not a hologram."

I smile, genuinely, and turn my head to kiss his palm. I close my eyes and inhale every aspect of him I can. He smells like ash and his fingernails look like they've been raking through the piles of coal. His hands are rough, callused over and scarred, but all I want is to feel them caressing the rest of my body.

"I love you, Peeta," I say. He inhales and I feel all the words that have eluded me flooding into my mouth. "I'm sorry it took so long to say that, and to mean it the way you dreamt it would mean. I'm sorry that my loving you, and my confusion, has caused you all this trouble, and I'm sorry that I couldn't make it right from the very beginning."

Peeta opens his mouth to interrupt, but I won't have it.

"No, Peeta. For once, I want _you_ to be comforted. It's always been you taking care of me, and this won't work if we keep it that way. I realize that you're human, too. That you have pain and fear and frustration and loss and hope just like me. So hear me out when I apologize to you."

He smiles in a small, gentle way that agrees to listen. I lift my hand to his face this time, carefully placing it along his upper jaw. I allow my fingers to move, to inch towards the corner of his mouth as they feel the surprising softness of his skin. I trace his bottom lip with my thumb, memorizing the tone and shape. He says nothing, but watches me as I study him. I drop my hand, close my eyes and sigh.

"Peeta," I say quietly, "I don't deserve this – your forgiveness."

"We're way past that point, Katniss," he replies calmly. "If I was mad enough to require an apology or forgiveness, don't you think I would have given up a long time ago? If I loved you so little I could let something as simple as your inaffection turn me away, would I have fought so hard to find you again? I should have never left your side. I should have never agreed to any of this. Even though I see now that you were safe, it scares me to think that there was a chance you weren't. Not that I can protect you from everything, but god, I would've tried."

He doesn't mean to, but he's making it worse. I'm confused by his references and overwhelmed with his selflessness. With every word he says the guilt lodges deeper and deeper into my chest. I don't want it there, and I'm not going to let it stop me, but I know that I'll owe him as long as live. It won't be a begrudgingly sort of payment that I return to him, though. It will be with all of the love inside of me, with every affection I can muster, and even with those I didn't know it was possible to have, I'm going to make his life worth something more. I'm going to give him all of me, my entire heart, my entire life. Whatever he wants, he will have because I owe him that…because I owe him so much more. Because I want him to have it all.

So what do I say to him now? I realize that we can go back and forth all day, apologizing and telling each other just how silly that apology is. We can argue over who is to blame, who has more to forgive, but in the end, we'll just spend all this reunion time battling nonsense and getting nowhere. I prefer the kissing.

I lean in and find his lips softly. I might not take his whole face on, but the gentleness tells him much more. It tells him that I'll take care of him, that I'll stay with him, that I'm his forever. It tells him that I really, truly, deeply, completely love him.

And I mean that more than I've meant anything in my entire life.

Peeta kisses back with the same sensation and tenderness, and time passes in that mellow pace for an unknown length. His hands sit on my face delicately and mine on his chest.

"Peeta," I whisper, "I want you to know…"

Our faces are so close, our lips hovering over each other as I talk. I breathe in and accept it as he delivers another kiss.

"What?" he whispers back.

My heart thuds, my chest burns. I kiss him again and as our lips are moving together say, "I love as much as you love me. Probably more."

Everything changes. Suddenly, his heartbeat picks up and I'm swept away with it. I can feel my heart racing to meet up and his hands press harder against my cheeks. His left hand moves to my neck, to my shoulder, to my waist. I move my arms to wrap around his neck and almost instantly we're pulled towards the mattress. Whether it was him or me moving us that way I can't be sure.

He moans and I kiss harder, arching my back slightly and urging him to go on. He repositions himself slightly, his body now completely parallel to mine along the bed. I feel it again – that flurry inside my lungs. I can hardly stand all this internal chaos. My brain can't keep up with it and I might as well just collapse and go limp here…that is, if it wasn't for the stopping of all that feels so good. My hands find Peeta's back and I press him down to me. He obliges. The feeling of our bodies crushed together horizontally is even more incredible than it was standing up. How does anyone stand this without exploding?

I respond with a low groan and Peeta kicks a knee up to arch my leg over his thigh. His hands begin to move in ways they've never moved on me before, one snaking down my back and the other clawing up my calf, the side of my thigh, my butt. I let my head fall away and moan again. Peeta doesn't miss a beat and moves his lips to my neck. Now my collarbone. Now my chest. I stretch my arms above my head as the rest of my body stretches towards him, squirming in rapture. Peeta's arms take the positioned opportunity to grab the bottom of my shirt and pull it towards the top of my head. I understand and sit up just enough for the tattered, green rag to slip off, exposing a simple, white bra, dirty after months of wear. For the first time all night, I feel my cheeks flush red.

I honestly can't say that I thought about this moment very often, but there's a strange reaction when your body is this emotionally engaged. The physical just won't be left behind. When your heart is pumping so hard you're certain it's going to burst right through your skin and rip open with flowers and confetti and screams and cheers, other parts of your body sort of follow suit…tingles begin to move everywhere and sensations start to cover each and every pore. So, when I saw him at the door tonight, too many things happened inside of me at once to think rationally about where we might end up. Had I stopped for a second to consider this, I might have smoothed my hair, even rinsed it first. I might have tried to scrub my feet or wash my face or find a less dirty shirt. I probably wouldn't have even wasted my time with a bra, since I only have one and it doesn't make anyone swoon by the sight of it. My bare breasts would've had a much bigger affect.

I glance quickly at Peeta, but he is totally enraptured with my exposed skin. He flashes a glance back at me and I see something exhilarated in his eyes, something enamored. He smiles widely and lurches back towards my face, kissing me seriously before moving his mouth back towards my stomach.

"Peeta," I manage to murmur, but I don't intend it to go anywhere. I say it as an expletive, as an exclamation. I pull his shirt forward and he bends out of it quickly, scooting a few inches back as he does. Before I can think he's got his hands on the buttons of my jeans and starts raking them off in one big motion.

And then I'm nervous.

Not because I want to stop, or because I'm scared, but because I'm entering new territory. I've never done this before, though, I suppose most things I've done with Peeta have been new ground. He was the first person I'd kissed, and the first person I'd _really_ kissed. I'd never let my hands explore anyone the way I had let mine do to him tonight, nor had I dared think of anyone wanting theirs to do the same to me. Peeta is the first person I've ever loved, which says the most of all, because no matter what confusion I'd ever had over Gale, this feeling, this emotion that floods me every time I merely think Peeta's name, is like a tsunami big enough to take out an entire nation.

Peeta tosses my pants to the floor, but notices the slight hesitation, the minor tension. "Katniss," he begins, "tell me when to stop. I mean, if you…we don't…this…well…"

Is he blushing this time? I can't be sure, but he just might be. He starts to pull his leg back as if he's going to get out of this position and I reach for his shoulders.

"No," is all I say. I take a breath and sit up just enough for my hands to move down his sides, reach around behind him and cup his backside. They pull him forward as I lay back and he props himself gently over me. I squeeze my hands between our torsos and find the buttons of his dark brown cords. He stares at me and I stare back. An intimate conversation that I'll never forget. His pants are looser than mine were and they slip off with ease. As he kicks the last inch off his foot he lays down fully onto me, being careful to keep his weight balanced on his arms while still letting any space between us seep away.

Our flesh is so warm against one another and I notice how smooth everything about him is. Well, except for his hands, of course. All of my senses are heightened now and I allow one more kiss on the collar before hitching my leg under his thigh, pressing up on his shoulders and pushing him over onto his back.

Instinct is taking over. What I didn't know already Mother Nature seems to be teaching me. Desire is an amazing thing.

He is so beautiful. Now that I get a better look at his bare chest, I relish every curve of it. He's strong. A bit thin, but we all are these days. I'll find a way to get food in him, I promise myself. Someday I'll be able to feed him like the Capitol fed their people every day, and we'll get fat and happy together as our children grow up laughing and playing around our feet.

Our children.

Another rush pumps through me and while I know it's not something we'll have today, I think of such a gift to give him when the time comes. How it will elate him to watch _his_ baby grow in _my_ belly. To know that I am willing to connect myself to him in that way, to have the two of us forever a part of something else; to know that he is inescapable in my life, and I in his.

I don't even think this time and reach around to unclasp my bra. It loosens on my shoulders and I shrug it off. Peeta watches lustfully, and I lean down to kiss him. The immediate tingle of my bare body against his flesh makes me want to scream and I rock my hips in reply. Peeta reaches for them and presses them closer to his, arching his lower back for better leverage. His hands are all over me now, trying to find a place to make purchase. They don't spend much time away, though, and he's back on my hips aiding my motions before I can count to three. I moan loudly. Does he have any idea what he's doing to me?

Oh…

Yes, he does. Because suddenly I can feel what I've done to him.


	3. The Thickness of the Walls

******DISCLAIMER: Naturally, I'm not Suzanne, so.**

**_The passion between Katniss and Peeta comes into full LEMON fire here, but I think it stays true to both of their characters. They love each other and don't know what the next day brings. :) What would you do?_**

* * *

I unstraddle him and step behind his angled legs. He doesn't flatten them out and I try to maintain confidence. My hands reach for the elastic of his boxers and begin to pull. Peeta looks at me now, something in his eyes showing the same sort of nervousness I had felt earlier. I realize I'm smiling and this stirs something completely new within me. I lean down kiss his shin, the top of his knee. He lets out a closed-mouth moan, a long, low, meaningful sigh. All of my nerves, any insecurities, flush away instantly and I just want to do something to squirrel that sound out of him again. This emotion is familiar to the way I feel when I think of how happy he would be to have children with me, but it's something much more raw, more animalistic. This must flicker on the surface because as soon as I think it, Peeta's face shows the same commitment.

When I look back down, his shorts are already completely in my hand, and he lays totally exposed before me. I don't blush, I don't flutter. Instead, I feel hungry, wanting, need. I start to lean in, but Peeta is already moving. He meets me in the middle and our lips collide, our chests, our hips. He reaches for my butt and hoists me into his lap, grabbing hold of my underwear at the same time. He must have practice at this.

Slowly he lays us down, our heads now at the opposite end of the bed that we began at. He is on top of me once more, but our breathing is more even, solid, strong. He doesn't have to ask me if I'm ready. I don't have to wonder if he is.

I think for a moment how this reunion has played out. How, not long ago I was sitting alone in this room wondering what he must be feeling. Wondering if he's even alive, if he thinks of me, if he would ever forgive me.

How instantly life changes when you're not watching.

If you had asked me this morning whether I thought I would see Peeta today, I would have done one of two things: laughed and then threw something at you, or bypassed the sarcastic laughing at just thrown something at you. I would not have said yes.

Peeta, as far as I knew, was under lock and key somewhere, and it would have to be _me_ coming to find _him_. I wonder how he escaped and think of how chaotic the bombings must have been as soon as Snow left the Capitol. So chaotic that Peeta, someone I would assume they had under the tightest watch, was able to make his way through the city, into the surrounding hills, carrying a nearly dead rebel spy, without ever being caught. It doesn't necessarily make sense.

But neither does this sharp pain.

"Ow!" I accidentally mutter. Peeta stops immediately and tenses his body.

"I'll wait," he says, and doesn't move.

I take a breath and very slightly move my hips side to side. There was a quick pain, but it seems to be gone for the most part now. I think I can handle his movement.

I nod, and he waits another second for continued affirmation. "I think it's okay," I say, and I feel silly for being so completely uncertain of what I'm doing, but totally confident that I'm doing it with Peeta.

I hear him breathe deeply, a sound I've learned to relish. I watch his face for a moment, mad with pleasure. He looks at me and there's something in his eyes I've never seen before. Peeta has looked at me lovingly a million times, and almost every single time I've known that he meant it. I couldn't say the same for myself, I was never certain where my mind lay. But now, the fierceness in my heart has to be blazing through my face in hopes of reciprocating some element of how strong the feeling is that's coming from him. His eyes are looking at me with more than just love. They're looking at me with permanency, with desire, with need. They encapsulate a hundred feelings in once small spark, and I want to tell him I feel the same.

His breathing picks up again and I'm brought back to the moment. I understand what's happening, but I can't quite wrap my head around it. These feelings, both physical and emotional, are more than I think one body can handle. How did I never imagine this? How did I spend all this time longing for him without fantasizing about these kinds of touches, these sounds and movements? But how could I have known, I suppose. Until it's happening, I find I never knew much about any of this, but that's what happens when you become a parent to your parent while you are still not much more than a child.

At times I realize I can't focus on anything but each action as it happens, and other times I find myself so overwhelmed with my feelings for this man I can't keep my head straight or even in this room. Every groan pleads for more, each noise making both of us more desperate for the other. The bed knocks against the wall and I wonder if anyone hears us. I wonder who is around waiting for us to emerge.

Something is welling up inside of me, something beginning to burn from the place our bodies are connected. My head is starting to spin, my legs tighten, my stomach stiffens. I can't think of anything else and all I want is to build on this sensation. Our bodies are moving furiously, our panting heavy and explicit. He moans my name between other sounds and I groan back. Every time I realize I'm doing something that's making him happy I want to magnify the action a hundredfold.

For a moment my mind is rendered paralyzed as a white light booms through, and then everything is a giant muscular tension. The sensation stays, enveloping me in a feeling of complete and total bliss that I didn't understand was possible before. But at this point in the evening, that doesn't surprise me.

And then it fades and my body goes limp. There is a throbbing, a remnant of the power that had just been, and it takes all of my effort to lift my head. Peeta looks focused, but smiles at me. He looks back down at my chest and kisses the skin just below my breasts. I let out another moan, this one significantly softer than any of the moans I have let out during all of this, and press my hips into him again. He takes the nod. It starts slowly at first, but before I can think much about it our bodies are hitting and thrashing and grunts and groans are filling the small space. I desperately hope the cement walls are thicker than I'd ever thought I would care about before.

When the bed is still, Peeta hangs his head, letting the final moment linger and fade slowly, and I let my hands fall to the sides of my head. His lower half finally weakens and falls onto me, our bodies still connected. I look up just in time to catch his mouth with mine and our kiss stays. It's calm, full of meaning and riddled with emotion. I tangle my hands in his blonde hair and kiss the top of his head.

We lay there for a while, our bodies still intertwined, neither of us speaking, but yet saying so much in gentle caresses and touches and hugs. The red blanket is piled next to us and I grab it haphazardly. Holding to one end and slapping the other into the air, the thin cloth falls back down onto us, covering Peeta from the knees up. I don't know why I waste my time, but this moment feels intimate, reminiscent of the way he would crawl into bed with me before the rebellion, and I suppose it's that innocence I am trying to capture.

When we wake up it's not because we are done sleeping. Whoever knocks doesn't intend to wait for an answer before storming into the darkened room. The red blanket doesn't leave much to ponder, but I suppose neither do our naked bodies or the way Peeta is laying on top of me rather than beside me.

"For pete's sake," a gruff voice booms, "you can blow someone else's time making out, but we've got –"

Haymitch catches sight of us and I bury my head into Peeta's shoulder. The moan I let out this time is not of pleasure, but of complete, blazing embarrassment.

"Perhaps you could give us another minute?" Peeta responds hazily.

Haymitch's eyes are wide and I can tell he's not sure what to do or say. I wouldn't say he's embarrassed by this barging in, but more taken back. Surprised. He wasn't expecting it, which pleases me for just a second on the thickness of the walls. Haymitch just shakes his head and looks away.

"Um, yes. Er. I…I'll be…it's going to be…I'm just gonna…"

"Meet us in the dining hall?" Peeta interjects.

I wonder what time it is. How long have we been sleeping? Haymitch gives a funny nod and darts for the door, closing it with awkward care behind him. Peeta's face develops a sideways grin, and I let out a muffled giggle into his chest.

"You know," Peeta begins, "a few times I wondered just how many people were going to hear every bang this old bed made against the walls, but either they were honestly too far away to catch it, or these cements chambers are more sound proof than I'd hoped."

I let out a loud guffaw and push my head against the pillow to see his eyes more clearly. "I was just thinking the same thing!"

We both let out a few breathy laughs and Peeta pulls away. There's a sharp disappointment to disconnect our bodies, but it's muddled by the instant view of him. He stands up and the red blanket falls to the ground, revealing his entire naked body before me. Everything about him is sculpted. Maybe it's just the suckenness of his skin, but every muscle in his body protrudes towards the surface, every curve and tone and dent making him look like a beautiful God. I eye him carefully.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Katniss Everdeen, but it looks suspiciously good," Peeta says as he tosses my jeans onto the bed.

I think of a million ways to reply to him, but decide I don't want any of the answers he might give me, good or otherwise. Instead, I regain that odd silence that seemed to take over me when he first walked into the room and just want, more than anything, to never leave his side.

He's already pulling his shirt on by the time I've managed to slide into my underwear, and he tosses my bra next to my jeans. He starts to fold the blanket and now I see that he's the one eyeing me. His smiles fades, though, and the blanket folds idly over his arm.

"No matter what happens, Katniss," he says quietly, "we're in this together. I'll always look out for you, you always look out for me."

I don't understand.

"We're about to go straight into a planning meeting, you realize, right? You and I…we didn't take any time to discuss why I'm even here, what happened at the Capitol, how I managed to get out…that's what we're going to have to do now."

I still don't understand, but as I button my pants I'm not sure I want to.

"This throws everything off," Peeta adds as he motions at the bed. "You know Haymitch isn't going to want us to be separated now."

Does he mean this as an insult? Suddenly all the bliss I'd felt is melting away into a sinking feeling in the hole of my chest. Is he angry about what has just happened? And why would Haymitch separate us? Peeta steps forward and grabs my face in his hands.

"Katniss," he says seriously, "I don't think I can stand to be away from you again, but we have to consider the final end, the war, the rebellion. All I'm saying is to keep an open mind and know that I'll only ever do what I think is better for us in the end."

I don't like the sound of any of this, but I'm too confused to argue. I just nod, certain my eyes show him just how little I understand. He leans in to kiss me and I kiss back. My shirt still hangs in my fingers and his arms wrap around my skin. My chest urges again and that collision of physical that wants to catch up to the emotional heats up under my bones. I lean further into his lips.

The door barrels open and Peeta sighs, pulling his mouth away from mine. "Haymitch, I said we'd be there – "

But it's not Haymitch standing in the doorway this time.

Gale stands in the brighter light of the Hallway as it pours into the room. His eyes are wild – full of pain and anger and shock – as he takes in Peeta and me in this position. I remember that my shirt is not on me and move my arms to cover the tattered bra on my chest. Peeta keeps one arm protectively wrapped around my waist and pulls me tighter towards his body.

"Get out of here!" He scolds Gale as the two men realize what is being seen.

Gale doesn't close the door behind him and I watch as he blows down the hall, his body balled so tight I can practically hear it locking.


	4. The Link

"He's not a child, Katniss," Peeta argues as I acrimoniously throw on my shirt. "What does he expect? Have you led him to think anything other than what he saw just now?"

"I haven't led ANYONE to think about what he saw just now!" I nearly shout.

Peeta walks towards me, but I hold out my arms protectively.

"That's not what I meant," he says calmly.

I know what he meant, and the answer is no. I haven't led Gale to think there is a shot in the dark between him and me.

"He's been my best friend for a long time, Peeta. I know how he feels about me and I don't pretend otherwise. Just like I won't pretend to love you any less than I do. Gale can see it, it's obvious to everyone. It would be impossible to hide. But this is not a way I like to be found. Especially not by him."

I lower my arms and Peeta moves in. "If he's not there at dinner, go find him. But give him some time."

I sigh. I have never officially declared my love for Peeta to Gale, but I know he's fully aware of it. He was there when I woke up after the Quell, comforting me, holding my hand, but all I wanted was Peeta. It didn't take long for me to process what that meant, and once I did my heart knew it would never beat the same. I'm sure Gale wasn't the only one to figure it out as well, but he was the one that pained me the most to see realize. What little hope he had of my feelings being for him fluttered into the open air and away with the wind. I'll always hold a special place in my life for Gale, but Peeta consumes the biggest part of me and I can't ignore it.

I feel Peeta's body close to mine again and look up. He pinches my chin and kisses me quickly.

"It'll be okay," he says gently. Sure. Peeta always thinks things are going to be okay. He smiles a crooked grin and adds, "Haymitch won't say anything, so don't blush and give us away." He chuckles and takes my hand as we head into the hallway, moving slowly towards the dining hall.

I survey the room for a sign of Gale, but no one else is waiting around when we arrive. I'm half disappointed and half grateful. It gives me a minute to compose myself before looking anyone in the eye. Even though I'm certain no one is a mind reader, I'm a terrible liar and Peeta knows what he's saying when he suggests I'll give our recent exploits away with the slightest flush of my cheeks.

Not a minute passes and Finnick swings open the door from the kitchen, a jovial bounce in his steps as he waltzes toward us. He smiles grandly at Peeta and throws an arm over his free shoulder (free from me, that is) for a loud hug.

"They told me you were back, but I had to see it for myself!" He exclaims. "Nice to take a break from all the acting, aye? Then, you're no stranger to that."

Peeta's eyes make a strange expression and he shakes his head so slightly I almost don't catch it. Finnick seems to, though, and clears his throat, immediately trying to change the subject. I decide to ask him about it later because my stomach gurgles and I want to find something to eat. I look for the clock that hangs on the eastern wall of the long room and realize we've missed dinner by an hour. I wonder if Gale was coming to see why I had missed the meal. That would mean he probably wouldn't be coming back here again and I try to remember if he has watch tonight or not.

There is a loud clanging coming from the kitchen and the three of us jump defensively before Finnick chuckles and says Haymitch's name.

"The old man figured you'd be hungry, what, talking through the meal and all." He uses the word 'talking' in a funny way and immediately eyes me. Amazingly, I don't blink. Peeta squeezes my hand and I can almost hear how impressed he is.

We move towards one of the many round tables that litter the dining space and Finnick lays out a few tin cups and a silver kettle he'd carried from the kitchen. He pours us each a steaming cup of tea and apologizes for the lack of crystal sugar and bumblebird honey. Sarcasm is one of my favorite things about Finnick.

I take the tin into my hand and let the warm liquid heat the metal around my fingers. I survey the cup and think about this world the Thirteeners have created.

Amongst the vast cave halls and many cement chambers like my own, there is the dining hall and kitchen that we're in now, complete with hundreds of topless tin cans from tessaraes now used as cups, as well as beautifully-crafted metal cutlery and plates. _The Capitol providing for the ones that will destroy them_, I think.

There are a few meeting rooms, with old couches and hand-built chairs, and a large control center where all of the major planning is done. Only a few people are ever allowed into that room. You would think one of those people would be me.

There are domestic spaces (besides the bedrooms), which include a large nursery and classroom. There are a surprising number of children down here and I tend to avoid that part of the maze. Not because I explicitly dislike children, but because it's too sad to think of them in the middle of all of this. I picture Prim when she was a toddler, a young girl. I know this is the safest place for them right now, but it's still a terrible life.

In the largest room in the caves there is a growing center. An aqua-blue stream, fed from deep in the ground, runs through the center and has been piped to water various plots including grains, fruit and vegetable trees and bushes, and even a flower garden which is stirred up annually to mix the soil with the edibles. The Thirteeners are a combination of talented people – war commanders and teachers, farmers and scientists, mothers and fathers, fighters and lovers. They grew from every district, with only a few of the original District 13 citizens left. The original Thirteeners were the nuclear geniuses…but Haymitch avoids talking about them much.

"Katniss?"

I shake my head. Haymitch is standing across the table, a silver plate in hand. I look down and realize Peeta is already picking apart the roll on his plate and I quickly lift out my hands to accept the food.

"He's right here beside you, Katniss," Finnick smirks, "you don't have to daydream about him anymore."

I look up at Finnick and scowl, but he and Peeta laugh. It's so good to hear that sound – my Peeta laughing. I hear Haymitch sigh loudly and look towards my left.

"Having big thoughts, old man?" Finnick adds, a large swish of tea in his mouth.

Haymitch looks at him but doesn't reply. Then he looks at me. Then at Peeta. It's not the kind of look that tells what he has just seen, but the kind of look that tells of things he worries will come. I'm not used to this look being directed at me. I've seen it pointed towards hundreds of other people, mothers to their children, friends to each other. Lovers. They all have the same face when something is about to happen, when they're about to be separated and realize it might be the last moment they ever spend together.

I don't like this look.

Peeta has noticed the same thing and changes the subject more aptly than Finnick had tried to do earlier. "So it's just like they said," he half asks. "How far do the caves go?"

"I couldn't tell you," Haymitch replies half-heartedly. "A long way. They only excavated what they needed, or what they suspected they might need as their populations grew, and it's still more than we can fill with nearly 600 people."

"It's up to the 600s now? How many Thirteeners were there to start?" Peeta sounds awed, but not awed enough.

"Maybe a dozen. It didn't take long for that number to grow, though. When we were approached about the plan, there were how many? Fifty?"

"Give or take," Peeta replies. "And nineteen more in the Capitol."

"Are there any left?" Finnick asks carefully.

"I don't know. I imagine so, but everything was such a blur I couldn't tell you much about what's left. Except that Snow will be back. He exterminated the mindless and took those willing to follow with him. They're split between three hovercrafts, one of which carries the Head Winter himself." Peeta looks down and sighs. "He killed so many people."

Something is slowly dawning on me. Comments that have been made are beginning to make sense, but in a way I don't want them to. How does Peeta know so many details? Did he see it all happen? Did he make friends with an Avox that filled him in? How long was he here before Haymitch told me? Was he debriefed then? He's using language we use, and he's talking like he's be part of the rebel plan the entire time…

"What's going on?" I interrupt. The three men stop talking and look at me. They exchange glances with each other. There's a long silence and Finnick shuffles in his seat. Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but Haymitch holds up his hand to shush him.

"Katniss," Haymitch says carefully, "remember how, during the Games, sometimes I didn't tell Peeta everything that was going on? That you knew the plan, but he didn't?"

It's worse than I thought. My eyes are growing larger with every word. I can feel them bulging.

"Well, I might have had to choose sides again."

I look at Peeta and he doesn't meet my eyes. He looks down at his plate shamefully and I want to elbow him in the ribs. If I release a little anger before I hear the truth, I'll still have something in me to muster the strength. I know that whatever is about to be said is going to hurt and I have half a second to decide if I want to stop it from coming into the open. No. I'm not that kind of person. I silently brace myself instead.

Haymitch pauses and looks at me straight on. "The Team was a little different than I let you believe – than we let anyone other than The Brain believe. There were originally seven men that had infiltrated Snow's inner circle, but like I said this morning – he's not stupid. They didn't play the game right and Snow killed all of them instantly. He regretted it immediately, of course, realizing that he'd been too merciful and would not get any information out of the men now that they were dead. He knew there had to be more, though. A rebellion in action is never only seven-strong. Not when you're taking down someone as strong as the Capitol.

So, he waited. Years. Then Pierot made his way in. Snow never suspected him, though. He suspected everyone else, but never thought Pierot had the guts to be a spy. We're still not sure how his name was delivered, which is something we're hoping Peeta can help us with, but somehow Snow discovered his one and only friend in his cabinet was the man betraying him.

By that time there were eighteen other spies throughout the Capitol, one of which was your favorite Game Maker, Plutarch. They all had pull in various parts of the government, and were careful to have no unusual ties that could link them together. There were obvious ones, of course, like the Games, but it was too observable for Snow to suspect it. At least, we're pretty sure that was the case."

Haymitch pauses in thought and I can tell he's running facts through his mind, facts he's probably thought over a million times before now trying to discover the hole that led Snow to Pierot.

"There was still a missing link. Even though the rebels had grown in numbers, and were beginning to form a solid plan of attack, there was one element that wasn't quite right. The mockingjay was their emblem of hope. You were the leader behind this rebellion from the moment you put those berries in your mouth, but something needed to click – something that would connect us with you, that could make Snow think he'd found a weak spot to get to you. Then the star-crossed lovers told the world they were having a baby."

He motions towards Peeta and me.

"There were certainly a decent share of people that didn't buy it, Snow most of all, but that's where the Team came into play. They knew that in order for this new link to work, and they were suddenly sure it would work, they would have to convince the skeptics. Finnick helped a bit with that."

Finnick beamed, but my expression slipped the smile off his face as quickly as it came. I pictured him at the Quell, touching my stomach and suggesting I take it easy.

"We forged pictures of you," Haymitch continues, "private, somewhat intimate, pictures of you and your boyfriend here that made a certain impact. We knew it wouldn't be the final word, but it definitely implanted a strong seed in Snow's brain that maybe, just maybe, when he threatened you last fall you had taken it more seriously than he thought. That Peeta wasn't acting like the distraught father-to-be…that maybe he really was.

"It was enough to stir Snow's curiosity and stop him from making what he thinks might be the same mistake he made with the original seven – killing them too quickly. He wanted Peeta to get to you," Haymitch says.

"And who better to convince Snow than the smooth talker himself, the one he never questioned in the first place?" Finnick finishes as Haymitch agrees. "So, the nineteen spies became twenty,"

I take a minute to think about all of this. I try to consider my varying emotions, from awe at the plan, to betrayal, to madness, to loss. I have to accept that all this time I was mourning hopelessly over Peeta, these men walked amongst me with information that could have changed it all. I want to see the brilliance in what they have accomplished so far, but I'm too angry that I was excluded from it. I'm feel like I've been bamboozled, beaten again at my own game. I'm sick to think of what could have happened to Peeta if Snow changed his mind for even a second. What could still happen to Peeta if he tries to go back.

"So what happens now? What is Snow up to? Where is he taking the people on the hovercrafts?" I ask, hoping that my questions will repress any negative emotions that try to tackle me.

"Well," Peeta begins, "he's looking for you. For me, rather."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he saw the pictures of your belly and is trying to find the location they were taken in – what he believes is our headquarters. He knows that I've run back to you and has sent a couple spies of his own on the ground to find me. What he doesn't know is that two of the three men he's sent out work for us. They're taking their time and will meet up with us at the required spot at the agreed-upon time."

"Wait, wait, wait," I say shaking my hands in front of me. I look down obviously at my stomach and gesture wildly. "What pictures? There are no pictures! I'm not pregnant! It's not even possible for –"

And then I lose it because even though I began that sentence honestly, I realized I couldn't finish it that way. My cheeks blush violent red and I shut up before I can embarrass myself. I hear Finnick guffaw as if he knew it all along.

"Tealia and Denim took some of you hunting not long ago in an area that could easily have been in one of many districts, but hardly recognizable as Thirteen." Haymitch looks pleased with himself on this point. "And then we changed your appearance to look like you were four or five months along."

I huff.

"You're beautiful pregnant, by the way," Peeta whispers into my ear and I feel like a truck has just run into my chest.

I shake my head. Should I feel violated in some way? I suppose not. If all of this has worked perfectly so far, I have to believe in them. And I don't want to do anything to disrupt what they've already worked so hard for. I look towards Peeta and his eyes plead with me. Haymitch watches nonchalantly and Finnick is almost eager.

"I'm going to try to be rational and intelligent here," I begin, "but that means no more secrets, right?" There are easy nods from around the table. "Some mockingjay I make. I'm supposedly the face of this rebellion, yet I don't even know any of the plans that are making it happen."

Finnick chuckles then looks at the pained faces of Peeta and Haymitch. Poor guy. None of us let him have a good time.

I feel Peeta's arm on my shoulder and turn to him sharply.

"You can not keep doing this. If you really love me than you'll stop working so hard to push me away from you."

"Surely you'll understand why this was important," Peeta murmurs, obviously intending for just me to hear it. "I don't think it's possible to consciously push you away. Think of me. You know how my brain works. I would only ever do what would make your life better, and sometimes that requires me to do things that aren't safe, that aren't easy. "

I breathe in, but it's broken and I hate that my emotions are so easy to read.

"But I would do things that aren't safe or easy to protect _you_," I reply, tears filling my eyes. Peeta's beautiful voice, his perfect words have that inane affect on me. I refuse to cry in front of anyone, though. Letting go in front of Haymitch earlier was bad enough. I get up from my chair and head towards the hallway, my face swelling and stinging with the sobs that are surely soon to follow.


	5. Filling My Head With Decisions

I don't head towards my room. I walk straight past the door and wander through corridors I've never been down before. Though I've had a lot of time exploring the underground maze that is our District 13 headquarters, I haven't been this direction. The halls are bright, a strange shade of gray of the fluorescent light mingled with the dark stone walls. There are doors, rounded steel doors with long silver handles, pressed a few feet into the earth every twenty yards or so. I guess I hadn't thought about it before, but there really is a thick barrier between each room, both of the cement on the inside that forms each one, and the natural stone that they are carved into.

I can tell my vision is blurring and finally find an indentation in the natural cave wall large enough to hide my body from the hallway. I crumple up there, fighting with myself to stop the tears, but my resistance is futile and a few broken sobs manage to lurch from my chest and echo into the open space.

Will Peeta never stop protecting me? Will we ever have a normal relationship together? One that doesn't depend on constantly facing death in hopes of saving the life of the other? It's exhausting throwing yourself in front of trains day after day after day.

My mind wanders to my relationship with Peeta, to the life we could have if we lived in a different world. I fantasize about a little house with a big window in the front so plenty of light always pours in. Not our Victor Village houses, but something simple and old and totally ours. I smell fresh bread and paint and hear cheerful sounds, like the wind and brush strokes and laughter. I imagine couches full of friends and family – Peeta's siblings, my mother, Prim…Gale.

Everything goes black and I'm lying on the cold floor of the cave hall again. Gale. I shudder to think what he must have felt when he walked in on us today. It could have been worse – he could have been ten minutes earlier and had the good look Haymitch had. I would wager we were in an even more precarious position at that time than what Gale had been privy to. At least by the time my best friend barged in we were mostly clothed…

I sit up and lean my head against the wall, trying to fill it with decisions. My efforts seem useless. There are a million things flooding my mind, a million hopes, a million regrets, a million wishes. But in the end, everything keeps coming to one head: to Peeta. I remember trying to crack Gale for information on Haymitch's plans, since my old mentor obviously wasn't being very forthcoming with them. I thought surely Gale, if anyone, would be the person who was straight with me, but he told me that he was just a hunter and a watchman, that they didn't tell him any important information. Gale assured me he would let me know if he found out any plan details, but he never did seem to get around to it.

Once, though, I think he almost told me.

It was one of the rare evenings I was allowed to hunt with him under the dark night sky. Now I know that it was never _really_ about hunting as much as it was to snap the right pictures to send to Snow, but at the time the fresh air was intoxicating and I was just so grateful to get out of the confined spaces of the caves I could've cared less who was taking pictures of what.

"He's not dead," Gale stated matter-of-factly. "We would know if he was dead."

I had stopped moving and looked at him with red eyes.

"Whatever he's going through," Gale added softly, "I bet he's doing it all for you." I could tell that he wanted to add something else, but a large bird scurried through a patch of leaves a few yards ahead and we dropped the conversation all together.

My heart hangs low in my chest. I finally fill my head with a decision: I'll try to change things one person at a time. And I'll start with Gale.

* * *

"Gale?" My hiss echoes differently up here than it does deep underground. I wait for the sound to be swallowed by the walls. No reply.

"I know you're on watch tonight, Gale. That means you can't be far enough away to pretend like you don't hear me."

There's a small movement to my left and I jump. Gale's tired face emerges from the shadows as he steps into the dark yellow light. I swallow. How did I intend to start this again?

"You don't have to explain," Gale says before I can form a single sentence.

I look away for a moment. Was that what I thought I would do? Explain just what he had seen? _No, Gale, _I would say, _it was just me, shirtless, pressed against Peeta's body, moments before we decided to crawl back into bed to repeat things you'd never believe I'd done._

No. That's not what I wanted to do.

"I'm sorry," I manage to reply.

He looks down and his eyes fill with unavoidable pain. "I suppose I always knew it would happen, I just…I thought I would be long gone by then."

"So you didn't know he was coming back here?" I allow myself to hope for a moment that there is one person that will be honest with me, one person that hasn't lied, but I know it's not true.

Gale looks annoyed and I'm sure he doesn't want to be having this conversation at all. "What, so, he comes back into your life and that means throw yourself at him?"

"No, of course not! That…what you…I mean...we…I was just so caught up…" I stop for a second to compose the words. "It wasn't planned. I have honestly never even thought about it! But when I opened the door and he was standing there…I was just so overwhelmed I couldn't think about anything but –"

"Please. Stop." Gale takes a deep breath.

I feel flustered and realize that maybe coming to talk to him was a bad idea. Peeta was right about giving him time, and I can see he needs more.

Gale shifts his weight and I can tell he's considering something. "You love him?"

I stare into his deep, gray eyes and nod once.

"I mean really love him, Katniss. Not just because you want to protect him, but because you can't imagine your life without him?"

I nod again, my face serious.

"REALLY love him? It's not just about what …about…"

I understand what he's trying so hard to not say. Quickly I interject.

"No, Gale. It's not about that, either. I love him. _Really_ love him. I can't live without him."

He kicks the dirt under his feet and walks a few steps away from me.

"If I live through this war, Katniss, I don't plan on attending your wedding or anything."

My heart thuds a time or two and I don't know how to reply. I guess I never really thought about marrying Peeta or how such an event would pan out. I'd never thought much about who would attend, what we would do. The toasting, of course, but what else? Even when we were fictitiously engaged it was members of the Capitol city making all the decisions. I tried to remember what the wedding dress had looked like, but it seems to have faded from memory along with so many other things the Capitol had forced on me. The more I consider it, the more I realize that all I have ever thought about concerning Peeta since I this war has started, is our life together.

"Fine."

Gale looks at me strangely.

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. You won't have to attend any sort of wedding."

Gale looks at me even more hurt now.

"But I do expect you to be around for my life. I don't care what you were or were not planning on being around for; I'm telling you that I want my best friend in my life."

I remember that house I'd pictured earlier, with the large window and full couches. Gale has to be one of the bodies that fills the cushions. He has to be.

"Peeta included?" He asks.

I raise an eyebrow and he knows the answer. And then I see something move in Gale's eyes – something pleased. The smallest smile moves the corner of his lips and I feel something heavy lift off my chest. Maybe that was all he needed after all, just to know that Peeta hasn't replaced him.

I smile just as small back at him and watch as his shoulders relax slightly. It's not easy between us like it used to be and I know it never will be again, but small moments like this give me just enough peace to go on. Knowing that I haven't completely destroyed him, completely destroyed our friendship. My relationship with Peeta will still pain him, but we don't have time to dwell on it. We only have time to move forward. There is stillness for a minute and Gale shifts his weight once more.

"They couldn't have us spending too much time together, you know. Put me on this stupid shift nearly every week."

"No…I don't know," I reply.

"Katniss," Gale sighs, "if you mean that than you're the only one that missed the train."

I think about it for just a second. Who wouldn't want us spending too much time together and why. Almost instantly I understand.

"Oh, who would know!" I blurt loudly.

"Maybe the same person that tipped off Pierot to Snow." Gale says it so casually I'm taken back.

"How do you know about that?"

He smiles wider. "Just looking out for the father of the baby."

I let out a sound of disgust. "Keep up like this and I'll tell them I'm glad I never have to see you."

"At the rate you're going I won't have to keep lying to the Capitol about your pregnancy."

He smirks and I sneer.

"So you're in on it, too!" I throw my hands up and shake my head. "If I go down to the school tomorrow and even ONE child knows about this, I'm going to shoot myself."

"I had to be in on it! Who would you go to to help break you out of here? Me. And would I help you do it? Yes. You think Haymitch didn't come to me the minute this plan was in place?"

I blush a little sheepishly. He's right. I would go straight to him. I did. He wouldn't budge, though. Kept trying to convince me of all the reasons staying underground was better than heading out into the wilderness. It only made me angry and feel more lost. It was like there was nothing sane in the world anymore. I went from total ignorance of my feelings for Peeta to completely consumed in them, in a world I knew nothing about, during a war I feel like I'm no part of, and the only grounded person I've ever been able to rely on is no longer so grounded.

Well. I guess I was wrong about a lot of things.

I sigh. "Well, thank you, then."

"My pleasure."

"Yeah, right," I add and chuckle. "I bet you wanted to break out of here as bad as I did."

"I wasn't the one on the total outside the loop, remember? I hated doing this whole watchman shift and all, but I thought it was a smart plan…well…with the exception of a few minor details at least."

I don't have to ask what details those are. My relationship with Peeta, our fake baby. It makes me even more grateful Gale is here. He can be a jerk, but when it comes down to it, Gale is never thinking about himself.

"I know it's hard, Catnip," Gale says quietly, "but if even I had to admit it was a good plan, it has to be one. It lures Snow right where we want him, right into our trap instead of falling into his…but we need you on board if it's going to continue, and it was easier to get you to do what we wanted when you didn't have a mind against it." He smiles at this statement and I roll my eyes.

A pair of footsteps begin to clod twenty yards away from us and Peeta exhales.

"You should go. Seriously. It's not safe up here."

"Okay," I reply gently. I hesitate, rocking awkwardly on my feet, and then decide to move in. I wrap my arms around Gale and he tenses, surprised. "Thanks," I whisper and start to walk away.

"Say hi to your husband for me," he calls.

I pause so briefly it's almost unnoticeable. My husband? I hear Gale chuckle, but suddenly I have an idea.


	6. A Toasting

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games.**

_**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FAR! :) I promise to keep chapters coming, hopefully at an expedient pace. **_

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I don't know exactly how long it's been since I left the dining hall, but I suspect it's been long enough Peeta will be worried by now. It doesn't matter how mad we are at each other, I know we both panic when we don't know where the other is at.

I hope our lives aren't always like that.

I stop at the door that leads to my room, the number on the side etched carefully and filled with some sort of thick substance. Every door has a number. Otherwise I suppose there would be a lot more interruptions like the two I'd had today. I take in a breath and feel something happy muscle its way through my cheeks.

The room is dim as I enter and I immediately notice Peeta sitting on the edge of the bed. He's holding a thick, fuzzy package in his hand and I try to make it out. He looks up at me, his eyes tense but confident. Neither of us say anything. There are no sighs, no attempts at apologies. We just remain opposite each other, the twenty feet between us a blazing, black hole.

Peeta stands and unwraps the object in his hands. It's as tall as he is in all directions, a great big square with room to spare.

"My mom made it," he says as I eye the beautiful blanket, "at least ten years ago."

"Where did you get it?" I ask quietly, still standing with my back to the closed door.

"Clem and I got stuck hiding in District 12 for a while on our way here. I didn't think there would be anything left to speak of – total obliteration – but in the basement of the bakery this, and a few other things, were perfectly intact. I thought we'd scoured the Districts completely, but I don't think this would still be around if that was the case."

"Was there food?" I ask without thinking. For one second I feel like this war is actually the priority on my mind.

"Some," he replies. "There were a few bread starts and we brought them all back, along with a couple spice jars. Cinnamon, and just in time apparently. Haymitch says the Thirteeners ran out of a lot of their spices a while ago."

There's something in Peeta's voice that I haven't heard in a while. He's always thoughtful, but it's as if he's nearly in another world, and that is rare. Especially when I'm standing in the room. He lowers the blanket to get a good look at it again and I see it all flash strong across his face.

"My dad had this yarn ordered special from the Capitol for Reaping Day when I was five or six. It wasn't that he wanted to celebrate the occasion, but it was one of the only times of the year the Capitol didn't scoff at gifts sent out to the farther districts, and he knew it would arrive quickly. It was an anniversary present…I used to love to crawl into their bed because it was so warm…"

The sound in his voice becomes pained and he shifts the blanket away. Peeta doesn't say much about his family, but I know how much he loved them, how much he misses them. One of his siblings made it out, his youngest, but everyone else was caught in the fire fight. They weren't in great shape when they arrived, but I sent my mother to them right away. I've never said that to Peeta, but I wonder if he knows. All the family he has left in the world is a brother and I wonder what that must feel like. My heart tugs and I remember what I'm holding.

"Peeta," I say carefully, "thank you."

He looks over hopefully and I can see some of the pain in his voice had included me.

"For what?"

Immediately I feel a giant ball in my throat and close the distance between us.

"Oh, Peeta. For everything. For loving me. For protecting me. For putting yourself so close to harm's way. You're so selfless and kind and good and I _never_ tell you that. I spend so much time wallowing in all of the things about you that relate specifically to me I forget how much you do for everyone else. This war…this whole terrible world…could end because of how brave you are. In fact, it's because of how brave you've always been that these opportunities ever came up." I want to hug him but remember again that my hands are full. "You're the reason I'm here right now and I…I just want to tell you thank you."

Peeta throws the blanket on the bed behind him and tries to reach for my hand. He looks down when he feels the cloth wrapping and pulls my arm up to survey.

I pull away and step behind him to the bed, laying the few things I've been holding down on the mattress. He turns with me and eyes each piece curiously.

"Um, Peeta," I begin, "I had an idea."

Peeta looks back at me and I see his expression reflect the hopeful way I have started this proposition.

I pick up the cloth square and hand it to him. He unwraps it slowly and takes in a short breath as two thick slices of bread reveal themselves. Before he can say anything I hold up a match and Peeta inhales again.

"It might not be anything grand or official, but it's us," I say. I wait for his reply.

Peeta sets the bread back down on the bed and simmers thoughtfully.

"A toasting?" He finally asks.

I'm feeling less confident by the second.

"Yeah…"

One more exhale from Peeta and I'm ready to admit it is a stupid idea. He gazes at the floor and I'm starting to blush.

"You're right," I start to say, "I don't know what I was thinking. It's not a good idea…"

I reach down to gather up to the few items I'd collected from the kitchen when Peeta's hand grabs my wrist to stop me.

"It's perfect," he whispers. He loosens his grip on my arm and circles his hand around my waist. When he's hooked me nice and good he squeezes me forward and I throw my arms around his neck. I can feel his chest beginning to fill up with warmth and I stretch up to kiss his soft lips.

"I'm only sorry I didn't think of it first," he mumbles, though his mouth is still occupied. I giggle, a rare sound for me, and assure him we can pretend if it'll make him feel better.

"Well, techinically I did, right?" He laughs. If we're counting what happened on the Victory Tour, than sure. He proposed first.

Of course, it really _was_ all of those things that led me to the point I am now. The exchanges might have felt forced from my side at the time, but now that I look back, I'm grateful for every single kiss and hug and smile I sent his way. And I'll always know that everything Peeta did was completely sincere.

My cheeks warm cheerfully and I let my arms drop from his neck and wrap around his back. He obliges and lets me snake beneath his own arms, which move up to my shoulder blades. I lean my head against his chest.

"I'm glad you never gave up on me, Peeta."

He kisses the top of my head. "I'm glad you finally came around."

I sigh. I'm glad, too.

We stay there for a minute, the embrace holding my heart happily. I love hugging this man. Peeta shifts and pushes me back so that we can see each other's faces.

"Do you remember what I said to you on the tour, Katniss? When I proposed to you then?"

I think back and, unlike the wedding dress or many of the mundane stops we'd made along that timeline, I actually do vividly remember what he said to me on that stage. But I want to hear him say it now, when all of it means something immediate to me.

"Say it again?" I ask.

Peeta smiles a crooked smile and grabs the blanket off the bed. He lays it out like a giant rug, which takes up almost the whole floor, then reaches for the bread, the match, the tiny slice of butter, the knife and the small silver plate. We move to the center of the blanket and sit across from each other, the kitchen supplies inbetween.

He picks up the knife and cuts half the butter. Lifting one of the slices of bread, he begins to spread the yellow substance around and sighs happily.

"Katniss Everdeen," he begins, "I have known that I love you for a _very _long time. I have watched you, yearned for you, wondered if you even knew I was alive. I have even tried to forget about you, but realized all too quickly it was an impossible task. You consume me. I think of the forest and picture you. I think of warm bread and picture you. I think of laughter and picture you. I think of my favorite things, and I think of the things that frighten me; my past, my present, my future, and always, I picture you."

He hands me the slice of bread and picks up the second piece to butter.

"The Games were are slice of luck for me, because without them I don't know that you and I would have ever had the chance to spend so much time together, to learn to trust each other, to work so hard towards such an important goal. I realize it took you a bit longer for your heart to fall in line with mine," and he lifts an eyebrow at me, "but when it did, it was the moment I felt utterly complete. It was the moment I knew I would never truly be happy again unless I was spending every minute of the rest of my life with you."

He sets down the knife and lifts his slice of bread to be level with his chin.

"So, sweet, beautiful, wonderful Katniss, will you do me the honor? Will you marry me?"

I lift my slice of bread to match and open up a shy, but intentional grin. I try to hold it in, but I can tell that I'm glowing. Peeta glows right back at me and I nod.

"Yes, Peeta Mellark. Of course I'll marry you."

He strikes the long match and the flame lights up our faces. We both hold out our bread and he carefully moves the match from side to side. We watch as the undersides blacken and the butter melts and seeps into the grain. When the match is down to the end Peeta runs the flame over the topside, giving each piece a perfect, subtle brown tint. And then blows it out and we exchange looks.

"For you," he says softly, handing me his piece and I trade mine. Our eyes smile once more and we each take a great big bite.

* * *

I stretch quietly, my foot reaching onto the cold cement. I shiver and Peeta stretches next to me, his arm swinging over to pull me back into his chest. The large brown cover is wrapped tightly around us and I'm amazed how warm I've slept under it. It might have helped to have Peeta against me the whole night, but I have to remember to tell him what a great idea it was to bring this wonderful blanket back here.

I let his arm tighten as I roll to face him and can't help but smile as I take in this beautiful man. My _husband_ for all intents and purposes. We might not have a fancy piece of paper to show for it, but then, what does that matter? All of this is to bring the Capitol down anyway and soon all of those government-issued papers won't mean anything to anyone. I stretch again and let out a quiet morning moan. Peeta slowly opens his eyes and I sigh. I love the color of his eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Mellark," he says groggily. The sound of those words spilling out of his lips delights me more than I can express.

I snuggle in tighter and suddenly feel our unclothed bodies smashed together in naughty ways. Peeta's eyes open wider now and he smirks so cheekily I almost feel the need to hide my face. But I love that smirk and I don't want to look away.

There's a deep, guttural sound from his closed mouth.

"Fine, fine," he says smoothly, "you haven't had enough of me. I understand. But I'm not a machine."

He loosens the blanket enough to crawl on top of me without opening a gap to let in the cold morning air.

"Oh, you know what," I reply. "You're right. I think I might have just changed my mind…so…"

He holds me tighter. I'm glowing again. I know it.

He leans down and kisses me tenderly. "It's incredible how everything I've ever wanted is sitting in front of me, actually mine." He kisses me again and I send my hands places to let him know I agree.

_How many times can we go at this_, I wonder. Because I can't imagine ever getting tired of feeling this way. My stomach curls and bends under my belly button, my heart flutters and whirls. My lungs fill with a strange heat that makes it hard to breathe and every inch of me is layered with desire. I hear Peeta moan again and reposition my legs.

Soon the blanket is crumpled next to us, our bodies heat enough. The cold floor is soothing as the friction of our movements begin to build up steam and sweat and I try to concentrate on every single touch and motion. The walls are beginning to learn our names all over again, our inability and unwillingness to keep quiet taking over the room.

Then the door flies open.

Again.

"Jesus! Does no one knock?!" Peeta exclaims.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," Haymitch declares as he marches into the room.

Peeta jumps away from me and throws the blanket over my naked body. It lands in a lump on my head, two edges barely falling far enough to cover what Peeta intends to be hidden. I try to adjust it as Haymitch scoffs.

"Put that away, man," he says to Peeta and I hear Peeta frustratingly grab something off the bed.

"You know, if you would just knock, or even leave us alone for ten minutes of daytime, we might not have these predicaments," Peeta huffs.

"Touché," Haymitch says, obviously waving off the comment. "And it's been daylight for an hour."

"So, what, five in the morning?" Peeta's sarcasm is rare but so sexy when it appears.

There is finally an opening in the blanket and I pull my head free, my messy hair now unleashed into full view. "You have 60 seconds," I add.

Haymitch walks over and hands Peeta a large, dark blue envelope. "How about, I give this to you to look over and you meet me in the control center in fifteen minutes." He eyes me on the floor and nods towards Peeta. "Should give him plenty of time, eh?"

I grimace and look for something to throw, but Haymitch just laughs and turns right around for the hall.

"Is this for both of us?" I ask quickly.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Katniss," he calls as he exits, the door slamming behind him.

Yes. Definitely for both of us.

I look up towards Peeta, who is holding the old red blanket in a ball at his groin with one hand and the envelope in the other. He looks back at me, my ravaged hair, my exposed legs, my bare back.

"Fifteen minutes?" He says. "Brace yourself. I'll take care of this in ten."

The envelope flies backwards, landing against a wall, and I rip the blanket away from my body.


	7. Get Me a Bow I've Got to Practice

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games. Really. I borrowed the books.**

_**Katniss is finally part of the club – the rebel club. For the supposed inspiration that kicked this thing off, I've let her be out of the loop an awful lot. But there's a reason for everything! **_

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"Who is it?" a loud voice booms behind the only square door in all of District 13.

"Peeta and Katniss," Peeta replies.

A heavy lock clanks and creeks and the door opens wide. A large pair of hands immediately reach out, latching on to Peeta's shirt and my arm as they rush us in to a high, circular room. The door bangs behind us and I'm admittedly a little intimidated. I've never been in here before but Peeta seems to know his way around. He makes his way to a large counter littered with papers and gadgets on the far side of the door where a few men are hunched, whispering over a map.

"See how easy that was?" Peeta looks pointedly at Haymitch. "Knocking. You should try it out."

Haymitch shrugs. "Nothing secret is happening in your room."

"Not to you," I snipe, but the look he returns makes me cower.

"Not to anyone."

I clench my jaw. Haymitch is about to receive a punch in the mouth and boy does he deserve it. I feel Peeta squeeze my hand and I relax my face.

_Not now, but soon, _I think. _ Man, I hope he's wrong…_

"Plutarch," Peeta exclaims as the former Head Game Maker lifts his head from the map and walks our way.

"Hey, ol' boy! Good to see you again. I see you made it to your other half." Plutarch smiles at me and it feels genuine.

Peeta proudly wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"Sure did, Plutarch. Thanks."

"And then some," Haymitch mumbles under his breath, intending for just us to hear but including poor Plutarch in the matter anyway.

I give him a serious scowl, practically sticking out my tongue like a child at him. What is he on about? Why is he being so incessant? I feel my free hand ball into a fist. One more comment and its coming straight at his worn, fat cheek.

Frustratingly Peeta doesn't even react. He looks away for just a second before turning back to the subject at hand. The more _important_ subject, I should say.

"How much time are we looking at, Plutarch? A week? Two weeks?"

Plutarch shakes his head subtly, trying to recover from thoughts I'm certain neither of us want him having.

"Oh, yes. Um. Two or three more likely. Depends on Mason and how long they linger in Five. Pretty solid set-up we've got, though, right?"

Instantly Plutarch looks ready to nudge Peeta in the ribs, proud of something I have no idea about.

"Oh, uh…" Peeta pulls the blue envelope out of his back pocket, still unopened. "I haven't actually gotten to it yet."

I hear Haymitch scoff and Plutarch looks away bashfully.

"Oh, of course, of course." He flashes a bright, knowing smile. "Busy, no doubt, what with reunions and sleep and all."

Haymitch lets one more creeping comment out. "Sleep, ha!"

That's it. I pull away from Peeta and storm the few missing feet between Haymitch and me.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" I demand loudly. Haymitch looks wobbly, but obstinate. The liquor the Thirteeners have concocted down here is a strange, less malodorous drink than what we'd had in Twelve, and he has been drinking lots of it. They tell me it's not as potent, but the way he's been acting the past few days I doubt it.

"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you honest!" He replies, fierceness rebuilding.

"ME?" I huff. "Are you serious? Who's saying stupid things now, you filthy jerk!"

I try to ignore it, but Haymitch almost looks like he's pouting. It's subtle, barely noticeable, and if I didn't know him so well I likely would have missed it all together. Peeta hasn't moved and is standing, tense, with the other men in the room. I choose to ignore the expressions of everyone circled around us for fear I'll lose my nerve.

"What the two of you do DOES affect this plan, do you understand that?"

"Haymitch –" Peeta tries. No luck.

"No. I know what you're going to say and it's no good, Peeta. She's a stubborn mule of a woman sometimes and I think –"

There's no time for him to finish the sentence. My solid fist collides with the left side of his face, solid between his cheek and jaw. I hear a few gasps and exhale loudly, letting my shoulders drop with the motion. There's even a slight chuckle of amazement from Finnick who will, undoubtedly, agree with my decision. I only wish I had a bigger hand to cover more of Haymitch's skin.

"Katniss," Peeta says almost scoldingly, "we're not fighting each other. Remember who the bad guys are."

Haymitch is holding his face in shock. I don't know if he wants to react sadly or angrily or even at all. Surely he knows he deserved that. I don't reply, I don't move. I just watch Haymitch's eyes search the ground, and then me. Slowly he drops his protective hand and looks at Peeta.

"Grab her. We're getting ice."

I still avoid looking around the room and briefly feel embarrassed for Plutarch playing witness to this dissension. He's an essentially kind man. Slightly diabolical, but then, you have to be to plan a revolution like this. I'll apologize later.

The door makes less sound as we leave and I try to keep a couple steps behind. Peeta reaches back for my hand, but I don't accept. I'm too embarrassed, too furious. I don't want any sort of affection other than his agreement that I was justified to sock Haymitch the way I had. Surely Peeta was as irritated as me with the comments and interruptions and total disregard for our privacy.

Right?

We continue walking until the wide door to the dining hall comes into view. Haymitch shoots his arms out in front of him, pushing the slightly ajar door completely open. It moves slowly and his foot kicks against the bottom for more speed. He is angry. Just like me.

Peeta is caught between us, the only one that seems to have any sort of calm demeanor. This was always the case, though. When the Quell was announced, Haymitch and I went straight for the bottle, but Peeta went straight for strategy. If it hadn't been for his forced training, we might have had to watch more victors die for our survival in the arena.

The kitchen doors are not heavy like the rest of the doors down here. They're thin metal plates that swing open and closed easily. Haymitch treats them more carefully as a result and barges straight for the freezer in the back of the narrow space as soon as he's past. Peeta stops against the edge of the center counter and watches Haymitch disappear behind a row of shelves. I hear something creaking. Then chipping. There's a bit of grunting and finally something cracks loudly and slams to the floor.

When Haymitch walks back into view, he's carrying a large chunk of bright blue ice. Peeta grabs a small towel that hangs above a stove, hands it over, steps back to my side and I brace myself for a lashing. Haymitch sighs with relief as the cloth-wrapped coolant touches his face.

"You can't punish her for what she doesn't know, Haymitch," Peeta finally says.

"What don't I know this time?" I ask bitterly.

"I think, and correct me if I'm wrong Haymitch, but I think what he's been trying to get at is that maybe our privacy isn't the most important thing right now."

Haymitch huffs.

"Okay," Peeta adds, "maybe it's more harmful than good."

"They already know what you're doing," Haymitch jumps in, "but you exclude everyone so completely they're feeling like they don't matter to you anymore."

"What? Who? What are you talking about?" Sometimes I think my life would be easier if I just ran a metal bar through my skull.

"Them!" Haymitch motions his hand out as if there is a massive crowd behind us. I instinctively look back, but we're totally alone.

I look to Peeta for help. This is a common expression these days.

"He's talking about everyone down here, the Thirteeners, the survivors, the rebels. At least, the ones that aren't privy to live viewings of what's happening in our room."

My mouth drops open, appalled.

"If you're implying for one second that we should broadcast our…_sex life_…to strangers…"

"They're not strangers, Katniss," Haymitch says with a wince as he moves the ice. "They're here because they follow you. Because you rebelled first. Because you are bold and brave and do things they didn't have the courage to do on their own. They're not random people, they're your army. If you say jump, they will. You just haven't known to say it."

"What does that have to do with Peeta and me?"

"Everything!" Haymitch says, exasperated. "Almost everything you did during the Games was because of your relationship with Peeta. We all saw it then, you've just realized it now. So, when they follow you, they're following your relationship as well. It's just as much a part of this rebellion as you are. Do you think they know it was all a lie?"

Peeta winces this time. I don't think he likes being reminded of my lack of affection at the start of this whole journey.

"_Was_," I emphasize, looking at my husband.

My husband. Wait. So this means everyone has thought we were married this whole time? If they believed it when Peeta announced our fake toasting, does that mean…no…surely they don't believe the story about the baby. How could they? I should be showing by now, somewhat significantly. I mean, I won't be clogging any hallways at four or five months, but I certainly could not wear the t-shirts I do and still have a flat stomach.

"If they think our relationship was always genuine, that means they think the baby was, too? How do you explain that?"

Peeta shifts so that he is facing me square on. He stops Haymitch with a gentle shrug and answers.

"There are a lot of people that only know what they're supposed to do as it happens. But at least half of the people down here are not just random survivors. They're rebels, too. Intelligent, ready fighters. We can't give away the details of our finite plans to all of them, of course, but they know enough." He pauses. "When you got down here after the Quell, part of the sorrow in your walk and sallow color of your cheeks was because you lost me…and because you lost our baby."

I feel my heart slam against my ribs. Not just because of what these men and women have been told, but because the thought of having a baby inside of me that belongs to Peeta, and then losing that baby, is a devastating idea.

"But they know Snow still thinks I'm pregnant."

"Yes."

"How many knew about you, Peeta?" I'm almost afraid to ask. Even more afraid of the answer.

"Not many. The Brain, of course, and a few others that we knew would be good to have around you. Gale. Your mother. Prim."

The list keeps getting worse. Maybe that's why my family hasn't been around the last day and a half. They were giving me space and time to reconnect with the love of my life. They knew he was coming all along.

The kitchen grows silent. Haymitch winces one more time and Peeta moves in closer to me until his hands meet my shoulders and pull me the rest of the way to his chest.

"Are you okay with all of this?" He whispers.

"I don't know how to answer that," I reply honestly.

"See," Haymitch suddenly yells at us, "that's what I'm talking about! That, right there. Be more public with that kind of intimacy. Remind them why they're right to follow your lead."

"Stay out of our room," Peeta barters.

"I'll stop trying to make a scene of your love life if you stop holing up in that dark space."

"I haven't even been with her for 24 hours, Haymitch. I hardly think you can say we're 'holing up' anywhere."

"Well, when you don't have much time 24 hours is a huge chunk."

I lay my head down against Peeta's chest. He wraps his arms tighter.

"Sorry about punching you," I say shyly, looking towards Haymitch. I suppose I have a habit of reacting before I know all the facts. Peeta's hands understand that all too well.

"Just do something that I tell you to for once," he replies. It's as good as an acceptance.

He begins to move forward and I feel Peeta moving with him, tucking me into his side. We exit the kitchen and mull towards the dining hall door.

"We made it official last night," Peeta says over my head. "Toasted it all into reality."

"I know," Haymitch snarks lowly, "I saw the crumbs all over your floor."

He doesn't say anything else until we get to the command center door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates. He looks at the floor, then up to us, viewing the placement of Peeta's hand on my lower waist, my hand unconsciously on the top of his butt. And then the tiniest, but most sincere smile I have ever seen from Haymitch creeps onto his face.

"I'm glad," he says meaningfully, and raises his hand to knock three times against the metal.

* * *

"This is where the coal pile is laid out," Plutarch says pointing at one of the pictures from the blue envelope, "and this is where the arrow will come from. She'll have no problem with that, don't you think?"

Plutarch looks at me and smiles again. "Not after that stunt with the apple in the Games," he adds.

I look at Peeta for help.

"Oh, Plutarch," he says, laying a hand on the man's shoulder, "you'll have to forgive us but Katniss only learned about any of this yesterday. We told her some of the details that have led up to this point, but not much after."

"Oh! Sure. I'm sorry, Katniss. Let me start again…"

Plutarch begins to unfold a plan that leads Snow straight into our trap and I will agree it truly is a beautiful plan if it works out. Just as I'd been told yesterday, Snow is busy trying to find out our secret location. The pictures he'd seen were taken here in 13, but they look an awful lot more like one of a few other, earlier districts, and as far as we know he has been taking his time in each district along the way. Our spies on the ground have been leading Snow's spies along slowly, finding planted tracks and setting up clues that are slowly convincing them into the narrow path that leads straight into our snare.

That snare happens to fall in District 12 – under a large pile of unburned coal. Surprising that there was any, but the things you can find when you put your mind to it never ceases to amaze. In a few weeks the men will have made their way to the outlands of 12 and will set up surveillance to look for signs of a hidden rebel camp.

This is where Peeta comes back in. He is going to reveal himself, inadvertently as far as the Capitol spies are concerned, letting them believe they have uncovered exactly what they were looking for. Plutarch reveals something Peeta glossed over last night when he told me about how he found his mother's blanket. It wasn't a mistake he and Clem were rummaging through. They were looking for basements, forts, hideouts. Places that they could get away to for safety, as well as make the place look convincing as a refuge for large amounts of people. They were also putting the finishing touches on the bombing site. He and Clem hadn't been alone on that part of the project and Gale's name drops into the mix.

My best friend had failed to mention as much and I realize I'm far too tired of all this protect-Katniss-by-not-telling-her-anything crap.

Lastly, with an excited gleam in his eye, Plutarch explains his reference to my little stunt with an arrow, an apple and the total destruction of all the Career's food and supply stores during the 74th Hunger Games.

I am the best shot, he says, and will especially not miss when it's Peeta's life on the line. I'll remind myself to thank them all for that later – for making a life and death situation loaded with even more pressure than it already is because if I miss it's more than just my own life that is at stake. It's Peeta's, and I want to save that more than anything else.

The area Snow's hovercraft will land is a small, open patch just along the fence. It's the only place large enough for the craft to land that is still far enough away from our supposed secret camp. We're fairly certain Snow won't drop individuals out of the ladder. He'll be forced to land the entire craft if he wants to keep his numerous protectors around him, therefore forced to this one spot. The coal lines are mixed with other flammable chemicals and powders for good measure and, once hit with a flaming arrow, will denonate with enough instant force to turn anything within a hundred yards to dust.

"Don't worry about yourself turning to dust, though," Plutarch chuckles. "We've got a few things up our sleeve, the least of which is an incredible flame and heat-protectant suit, proven to keep the wearer alive and functional in the most extreme situations."

"Oh, great," I mumble.

"You don't have to do it, Katniss," Peeta adds quickly. "Gale is a great shot, too."

"Oh, he'll already be down there with you," Haymitch says, stepping in from the background. "We can't risk all of this on one person, no matter how clean a shot they are."

Peeta shoots him a funny look.

"Page 14 if you'd read the damn thing," Haymitch says with a roll of his eyes.

"The shelter isn't very big, Haymitch. How many people are you planning on fitting in there?"

"Seven. You, Katniss, Gale, Jacob, Paul, Keplina and Johanna."

"What? Seven people?! Why Jacob and Johanna? Or Paul and Keplina? I didn't know any of them were good with a bow."

"They're not." Haymitch looks at me with a strange expression. "But they're good with hand-to-hand."

I understand. If we miss, or if something doesn't go off right, it becomes a classic sort of fight, man against man, sword against sword. A gory battle. Just the way Snow always liked it.

"It won't come to that," I state. "I won't miss. A hundred yards isn't that bad."

"Sure," Haymitch says lowly, "but what about 200 hundred yards, because that's more likely the distance you'll be aiming from.

I inhale slowly and let the breath move back out at equal speed. 200 hundred yards is nothing to scoff at, but if it's Peeta's life at stake, my arrow will hit nothing but the target.

"Get me a bow. I need to practice."

* * *

The next few weeks go by in a blur, spent up by exhausting long hours. When I'm not practicing my shooting with Gale or discussing details with the Brain, I'm assuring Prim and my mother that I'll be okay, sleeping, eating, or setting up a blockade for privacy in my room. Peeta and I have had little time together and we make the most of it when we do.

If only walls could talk.

On the evening before we're to head towards District 12, the final log from the Team lets us know everything is going according to plan. They'll arrive in 12 in the early evening, so we have to be set up before then. Bright and early, Haymitch had said making a gentle mock of Effie's voice. It was going to be a big, big, big day. Peeta and I made our way back to our room sleepily, slowly. Although we feel prepared, I also know we are both afraid.

I don't know that I can keep my body upright any longer and Peeta shoves the last piece of furniture into place. The door is quite possibly completely inoperable for all outsiders. Good.

I flop onto the bed in a heavy lump, one leg hanging precariously off the edge, one arm straight out over my head.

"This won't do," Peeta laughs as he picks my body up just off the bed, repositions me perfectly, and crawls right alongside.

"Mmm…thank you," I mumble as the thick, warm blanket falls over my legs.

"Katniss," Peeta says softly, "no matter what happens tomorrow or the next day, you know that I love you, right?"

My body is too heavy to feel motivated to move, but I force myself anyway. I roll onto my side and find Peeta is in the same position and we now lay face to face in the dark.

"Absolutely," I reply tenderly. "And you know that I love you?"

He nods.

"And no matter what happens, will you promise one thing," I add. "Promise me you won't try to be a hero. Just get in and get out. Do exactly as you're supposed to. No matter what."

Peeta looks at me for a second, deciding. Finally he nods again.

"All right. I promise. But the same has to go for you, too."

"Deal."

The fatigue sets in more strongly and I can feel myself drifting into sleep. I inch into Peeta's chest and he wraps his free arm around me. Before I fall completely away I make sure to add one thing, one statement for Peeta to sleep on, to dream about.

"If we get out of this, I promise I'll give you back the family you lost."

He doesn't move at first, but then I feel his hands search my face. He leans in and kisses me fiercely.

"You already have…Mrs. Mellark," he says so passionately I can almost feel him shake.

And then our bodies tangle one last time before we march into the fight.


	8. Goggles and Headsets

**DISCLAIMER: I wish I was that good, but I'm not. I don't own Hunger Games.**

_**[Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You guys are the best!]**_

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* * *

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There is an odd sense of farewell down here in the undergrounds of District 13 that reminds me of the cave in the Games. When Peeta and I had left our temporary home and protection then, we said good-bye, knowing we wouldn't be back. We knew at the time that we were walking into the end, whether it be our deaths or our victory.

For some reason, it feels the same way today.

I roll over in the bed to find Peeta still sleeping beside me. I adjust the blanket around me so only my head is left uncovered and shiver before finding warmth in Peeta's bare chest. He stretches slightly and moves an arm to rest around my back.

I'm too anxious to get much by way of sleep anymore, and decide I'll be happy just lying here next to my husband…maybe for the last time. No. I can't think that way. No one else is thinking that way. I seem to be the only person that considers this an option.

At least, the only one scared enough to openly say it.

When the Thirteener doctors had changed Peeta's fake leg two weeks ago, they tried to assure me that now he would run faster than anyone else, better than he had before. They assured me that he might as well get rid of the other one and replace it with their "machine". Be damn near unstoppable, they'd said. I didn't like that suggestion, even if it was a joke. It wasn't until I saw Peeta run for the first time after the change that I felt any sort of confidence creep into my heart.

So Peeta is the bait. And he's going to run. And after watching him…maybe it wasn't such a foolish idea after all.

Luckily we'd had time to practice, to grow confident in both of our abilities…if confidence is really what you could call any of the emotions that have passed through me in the last journey of time. It hasn't been nearly long enough for anything. Not long enough to feel certain about this plan, though, what's there to be certain about that more time will render? Not long enough to feel like I've spent enough time with Peeta, though, will there ever come a time when I think I've had enough of him? Not long enough to say good-bye to my mother and Prim if that's what this turns out to be. Not long enough for anything.

"Awake so soon," Peeta mumbles groggily.

"All the more time to hear your voice," I whisper back.

"But all the less time to sleep," he replies just as groggily as before, but I know he's happy to be awake with me just as much as I am with him.

"No hero stuff, right?" I ask him, recalling his promise to me the night before.

"Right," he says slowly. "I'm in, I'm out. I do exactly what I'm supposed to…that is…assuming Snow does as well."

"No, Peeta. You save yourself, no matter what."

He pauses too long and by now I know Peeta well enough to hear him when he doesn't speak. This sort of pause, this sort of tension in his shoulders, tells me that he won't listen to me. If a time comes when the plan has to change, if Snow does something unexpected, Peeta will react to it to still try and save the rest of us. His life doesn't matter much to him in this moment in comparison to mine. It's a disgusting, annoying truth that I can't figure out how to change.

"Let's talk about something else," he finally chimes, "because I don't want to spend this morning talking about what we're about to do. I want to talk about something…happy."

"Like you and me," I say with a small smile, even though I'm unhappy he's avoiding the subject.

"Exactly like you and me."

I wait for a second and try to decide what to do and how to word this. A small pain begins to burn in my chest as a million little pictures fill my head of Peeta, of our family-to-be, of our friends and our house and our lives without any of this mayhem. I want those images to be real, bad enough I can barely think straight. I can't lose Peeta. I can't. I won't let it happen.

"Well," I begin, "first I say we find our house. Something with lots of windows to let plenty of light in for your painting and my cheerful delight. And lots of open space for the many people that will roam through it."

He chuckles. "Big windows, got it. But somewhere near a forest where you can bring us home fresh dinner every night for me to cook."

We both laugh now and I feel the urge to hug Peeta tightly. Burrowed into his chest I let the words slide out.

"We'll never have any of that if you go and kill yourself today."

He's quiet, but hugs me back just as tightly, and I can hear him again in his silence. He agrees with me. Maybe the house will be enough to beckon him home to me.

We don't linger in bed very much longer and it's Peeta that rouses us out. He hands me my jacket once I'm dressed and I stop and take in his face one last, good time. I don't want to forget his face like this – soft and calm with the glisten of a good night's sleep in my arms, no matter what I have to see over the next 24 hours. I'll never accept the fact that he is going to be standing on the forest floor at Snow's easiest grasp, but I will accept that I trust the Brain. This is an intelligent plan…regardless of whether or not it pans out according to our scheme.

I throw on my jacket and Peeta sweeps up the brown blanket he's just folded to take with us. Good idea. We step into the hallway, hand-in-hand with Peeta pulling me forward with unusual force. It takes a second to sink in, but I suddenly notice there is a serious darkness to the hall. The lights are only half powered and even then, only every other light is operating at all. I listen for sounds of warning, of people screaming or shushing or something, but there is nothing. It is eerily calm.

"Where is everyone?" I ask Peeta quietly.

"It's early, Katniss," he tries, "they're probably still sleeping."

It's not that early. Something is different.

"Where's Prim? My mother? They know what's happening today. They wouldn't let me leave without saying good-bye."

"Maybe they're waiting for us somewhere else," Peeta tries again.

Is he trying to shake me off? But I don't have time to argue more. Haymitch is stepping out of his door and I realize we were practically running through the halls to get here so fast. All is forgotten with the look on Haymitch's face and I am consumed with the plan. It is my only mission, because my role in the plan is to keep Peeta safe and destroy the man that has made it so difficult for us to be happy.

"Almost there," he says to Peeta, and Peeta nods. I think I know what they're talking about, but then, I'm learning I never really do.

The lighting in the caves grows brighter as we approach the top. I begin to hear gentle murmuring and the sound of other voices is comforting. Finnick is waiting for us along with Keplina, Paul and Jacob, all looking rushed through with adrenaline and full of secret anxieties. As soon as we're in view they seem to rustle from their solid stances and move collectively, the three of us now flanked by four others. It feels strong, like rebel fighters with one mind – to seek and destroy.

When the pink morning sunrise reaches my eyes I wonder how I could forget just how much I love being above-ground. I've been too wrapped up in Peeta to think much about it, but now, smelling the fresh air, seeing the wide sky…I feel the rush of farewells sweeping over me again and know I will never be in those caves again. Oddly, this doesn't sadden me, because even though the last few weeks were the best weeks of my life (so far), they were all subjected to an almost constant nagging in the pit of my stomach, a nagging that all led to this one event. Had we been in District 13 under different circumstances I might have fonder memories of my time there, but instead, I am only happy to see it go.

I feel Peeta pull me gently and the ladder of the hovercraft lowers before us. He goes first and I follow quickly. The rest are in the silver and white space soon after us and we gather quietly on the circular seats that round out the room. There are packs arranged on the back of each seat and I remember what each one is filled with.

A few days ago we (being the eight who will be on the ground during the mission) were told that we will be equipped with specific tools and weapons. Gale and I will have a bow and set of arrows, of course, but they are hanging neatly on the wall of the hovercraft behind me. The seven of us hiding in a tree platform just before the fence will also be given a short knife, a pair of high-focus, automatic zoom, day and night-vision goggles to see the Winter's every move while Peeta is baiting them, and a thin, but highly repellent and protective slip-over jumpsuit to wear as soon as we're able. Peeta's pack includes the knife only, but also the water tablets and a few food provisions are also stored away in case anyone is separated from the team, a few first aid pieces, but nothing that will solve a serious wound, and most importantly, a headset that radiates Haymitch's strong voice. He'll be there, watching from the sky as he always does, in case anything goes wrong and we're not sure about a second course of action. Instead of having to guess his thoughts, I'll actually get to hear him thinking them.

"Everyone understands what is supposed to happen today, right?" Haymitch says solidly, breaking the silence that has been filling the room.

"We kill Snow?" I ask strangely.

I don't know that I quite understand his question. Of course everyone knows what we're supposed to do today. What else? I catch Gale glance at me oddly and try to read the expression in the corners of his mouth. I look towards Peeta, but he gives nothing away, and the same goes for Johanna and Jacob and Paul. Finnick, however, is not so quiet with his eyes. He catches me just once and darts away awkwardly. He moves his hands to either side of him on the seat, pressing down as if he's about to stand.

"Peeta you feel good about the run?" He interjects quickly.

"Yeah," Peeta replies calmly. "I feel as great as ever. They won't know what just happened as soon as I take off. I think they're expecting a fight, but that's not exactly what they'll get."

I like the sound of this and decide Finnick is nervous. I don't have the space in my mind to think of any other reason.

The hovercraft trip is quick and as we begin to lower towards the ground I realize I'm sadder than I thought about leaving behind Prim and my mother without a real good-bye. I wonder if Gale had seen them, or if they really were just too tired to get out of bed to find me. Maybe that would show confidence on their part, that they knew I would return and didn't want to make a sappy farewell out of something that didn't require one. I'll ask Gale later. Right now I need to focus.

Haymitch stands and I realize it must be time to head into our final destination. One by one we stand on the ladder, taking only a few steps before being frozen in an invisible light and slowly lowered to the ground. My feet touch the soil of my old district and my eyes reel from the view.

I suppose I am prepared for the destruction of my old home, but seeing it in person is unlike anything that can be described. There are no houses, just posts and remnants of what once was. Shards of glass litter the streets, along with ashes and papers and blackened toys from children long gone. Even the mayor's house is no more than a grand pile of bricks and white siding.

There truly is no more District 12.

Haymitch sighs at the sight of it all. Gale, having been here at the time of its demise, shows no surprise as he unloads from the hovercraft, and the rest of the members are obviously wondering if this is what their own homes look like. We know that there is nothing left of Panem to really speak of, and it's baffling the sheer magnitude in attacks the Winters must have laid out to annihilate so many people and all their homes in such a short amount of time.

But we can't linger long in this place.

I feel the pack rustle on my back and look to Peeta who is adjusting the top zipper.

"See you in a bit," he says calmly, kissing me softly. There is no urgency to this kiss to give it away as a final one. But that might scare me more. A strange dizzy feeling winds up in my chest and I feel like I might black out. I have to hold it together, though. Pain, fear – these are not emotions I can afford to have right now. I can only breathe contempt for Snow and dedication to the task at hand.

"Right, see you in a bit," I reply. I want to be able to mean it, but I feel like it's out of my control.

"Johanna," Haymitch says seriously, "you know the way to the platform. Get there fast and as soon as you're buckled down, turn on your headsets. Until then don't risk it."

She nods and turns on her heels, heading towards the forest and the fence edge. We've been dropped off at the location supposed to be our hideout opening. We're standing just outside the rubble of an old shop, with an obvious, but not too obvious door leading to the basement. Peeta will stay here, crawling out to allow the Winter spies to get a decent and real view of him before sliding back into the rather tiny hole down below. They don't know how small it is, though, and will be told by our members of the Team there are others, and most importantly, that I am down there. The one person who spurred it all, the one person Snow most desperately wants to kill. The one person they are really hunting.

I want to memorize every twist and bump and pile of debris in case I have to come running this way. I try to concentrate, watching Johanna walk away, but don't move just yet.

The hovercraft hums a little louder and I feel the tiniest breeze as the ladder lifts away and stores back inside. It flies upward and out of sight and suddenly the eight of us are left alone.

"We don't have time to waste," Johanna says, naturally taking on the leadership role she is assigned.

There are no verbal agreements, but every foot picks up with her words. I stay close to Peeta for one more moment, knowing we'll have to separate soon. Our hideout is opposite his, on the edge of what used to be a sealed electric fence. Now there is a large cut, a gap wide enough for five men to walk shoulder-by-shoulder through and not a lick of current. About 200 yards away from our platform is the small opening Snow will land in, and the coal pile he will land directly on. Peeta will run straight through the gap in the fence from the coal pile, leading the men on foot through a narrow runway to get to him and into the direct line of our arrows. He'll circle back to the tree platform and we'll wait. Just when we know Snow is wondering what's going on, the flaming arrow will hit the coal pile and the fire will begin, taking out the hovercraft and Snow with it and the mission will be over. The rebellion will be over. The war will be over.

At least…this is the plan.

I see the bodies getting smaller and know I need to follow. I take in a deep breath, look longing at Peeta one last time, and step forward. I don't look back at him again, but I can feel him watching me. He won't hide until I've disappeared into the woods beyond the fence so I pick up the pace, skipping a few steps here and there to get out of sight as fast as possible.

My heart begins to thud wildly. I see the fence growing in front of us, the gap getting wider and wider. Finally, Johanna steps through, followed closely by Gale and Keplina. Jacob and Paul make up the rear and finally I am the last sound on the ground before entering the forest. The trees close on us quickly, the air getting fresher by the minute. There is still a strong scent of fire here, though, and I notice many of the trunks of the trees towards the fence line look more like charcoal.

Another rush of lightheadedness fills me. I stagger slightly and feel the blood rushing through my veins so fast I can hardly stand. I didn't even have to think of Peeta this time to buckle down under the weight of the bow on my shoulder. Gale turns back and notices me, looking wobbly and breathing in and out to try and fill my lungs evenly.

"You all right, Catnip?"

Everyone stops now and looks back and besides the shaky knees and mulling chest, my cheeks are suddenly red.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…" I breathe in. "I just need a second."

"We're almost there anyway," Johanna says quickly, almost sniping. Get her moving, Gale."

The others are not so quick to look away from me and I can tell that Paul even has real concern across his face. Gale moves back and stands in front of me, wondering if he should touch me or stay a few inches away from the vomit that's showing green on my face.

"Man," he finally says with a small chuckle, "pull yourself together, Catnip. You're gonna make everyone nervous."

He reaches for my shoulders and I take one last deep breath.

"I'm sorry," I apologize again.

"Don't worry about it – just calm yourself down before you hurl everywhere or something."

I try to shake it off. Gale is good in this situation. Peeta pushes me, but Gale forces me. He doesn't add sentiment to any of his actions and causes me to do exactly what I need to do without an emotional reaction.

We walk slowly forward, following the gap behind Paul. Johanna is right. We approach a large, thick tree in barely a few minutes and I see Keplina making her way up the trunk with animal-like precision. I exhale loudly, trying one last time to put this pounding heart to rest and glance up towards the top. The branches explode into a mass of green, balling around to a point at the crown of the tree. Somewhere in the middle of all that mess is a shadowy platform, walled in and covered to create a box barely big enough for the seven of us to cram inside. I'm glad for two things at this point: my comfort level climbing through these trees, and the thickness of the branches that are going to be holding all of us up.

"You're a pro at this," Gale encourages, noticing that I'm not eagerly flying up the trunk like I might normally do.

I nod and step forward, placing one hand into a perfectly formed crevasse and begin to climb. Gale is close behind me, our bows clanking in sync against our backs. We maneuver skillfully up to the shelter and crawl in the edge. There is a long window that leaves our faces bare if we sit with our backs to the solid wall and hardly any room for our packs between us. There is certainly not enough room to stretch out and so we sit, in a line, all of our knees closer to our chests than we want them to be, waiting.

"Headsets and goggles," Johanna instructs after a few minutes.

There is a rustling sound and everyone begins digging in their packs. I start to hear clicks and snaps as the others adjust and put on the provided equipment, but as I reach into my own pack, a small, folded piece of paper catches my attention. I pull it out and immediately remember Peeta zipping my pack earlier. Sure enough, his gentle script is staggered across the page.

_Katniss. Remember that I love you and be confident in what you need to do today. No matter what happens, listen to Haymitch, to Johanna, to Gale. Surprises are not always what they immediately seem, so think clearly and rationally and stay on course. If something should happen to me, remember that there are other people that need you to stay sane. Keep calm for Prim, for your mother, for the children you could someday have. I'll come back to you if you do. Love, Peeta._

I read the letter over multiple times before looking away. I toil over the words, trying to listen to Peeta for what he's really saying, but all I can decipher is something that hasn't happened yet. And all I want is for his last line to be true.

"He's right, as always," Gale says lowly. I look up and see that he's been reading the letter over my shoulder.

There isn't room for whispering in this small space and the rest look down at us. I nod gently and pull out my goggles and headset and click everything into place. Almost immediately I hear Haymitch breathing calm instructions into our ears and think of Peeta, far enough away hearing the same sounds. It's almost like the idea of the stars – that even though we're not together in this moment, we're looking towards the same sky.


	9. The Mouse Trap

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games. Not even remotely. **

_**Surprises are not always what they seem. :)**_

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It was at least four in the afternoon by the time there was any motion at all. My legs ached to stretch and move, to even just walk around, but Johanna had been clear. No one was to leave the platform or head out of hiding.

"We just don't know who is where," she told me sternly. "One little escapade in the branches could blow your boyfriend's whole cover."

"_Husband…" _I corrected under my breath and Gale eyes search me frighteningly.

"What?"

I look towards him and at Johanna who is watching me with a similar expression.

"Husband." I say it clearly this time and breathe out.

I guess I hadn't thought about it much, but even though Haymitch had made it clear to me that the rest of District 13 was under the impression Peeta and I had never been lying, the Brain was much wiser. Those who were in on the details of the mission knew it all – that Peeta loved me but I didn't love him, that there was no marriage, no baby. At least, I didn't _know _I love him until he was kidnapped. Then there wasn't a single person that could be fooled of my feelings for the tall, blonde hero. And even after the real toasting we didn't bother throwing out the information of our official situation because of the blur of training and preparation for today.

Then Gale. Honestly, I'd forgotten to think about how he might feel having it rubbed in his face.

"Congratulations," Paul says enthusiastically and Johanna looks at him with disdain.

"Well, that's lovely for you," she says, looking back at me, "but maybe some of us are focusing on a bigger task around here."

I know Johanna likes me, but I also know she resents me. She resents what I have with Peeta and the fact that everyone has to follow my clumsy lead. When Haymitch put her in charge up here I wonder how good it must have made her feel to know that she could boss me around all she wanted for once and not be reprimanded for it. To give me orders, to make me do the things she thinks I should. Yes, I know Johanna likes me, but she'll never be my friend. I also know that Johanna will never do anything to harm me or Peeta, no matter how annoyed she may get.

Gale doesn't say anything, but looks down at his knees and buries his face closer to them. We sit there in silence again, the seven of us breathing each other's air, trying to inhale as much outside air as possible with not a lot of success.

Another hour passes and I can feel tensions mounting. Then Haymitch's voice chimes in to all of our ears.

"They're here."

Almost as if it was planned, we all rock up and onto our knees so that we are now facing out the long, open cut in the front of the shelter. My bow is in my hand before I can even think about it, my arrows slung over my shoulder for easiest grip. And then there is the one arrow, sitting next to me against the window. The tip of it is sharp, but a large ball of some kind of fabric is wrapped around the rest of the head. A long match is poised alongside it, ready to be lit.

Birds begin to chirp in warning. I understand that sound. The bottom of the large, grey hovercraft appears almost out of nowhere and lowers itself slowly ahead of us, exactly where we'd hope it would land. It falls short of the trees and our goggles focus through the branches to keep a close eye on the gate.

My breathing picks up and my heart speeds with it. I tighten my bow in time to hear Gale match the action and watch as the shadows of the gate slowly widen in opening.

"So far, so good," Haymitch says again through the headsets. Everything is going according to plan.

Peeta comes into view. Just below the tree the loud crunching of his walk startles me and I search for the culprit. When I see him my heart sinks a little and I feel my palms go sweaty. It's all I can do to ward off sickness and I remind myself that 'adrenaline junky' is no longer in my list of plausible professions.

I dart my goggled eyes back towards the hovercraft and see two lines of men exiting. They are not all in white, as I had suspected, but the Peace-Keepers-turned-war-mongers make up the majority of the bunch. I count, ten, twelve, fourteen. I recognize the first two – members of the Team that had been introduced to me via biographies and photographs during training. I know there are two others mixed in that belong to the same order, but can't remember their details enough to know who is who.

Peeta inches further forward, his path leading him directly into the line of Snow's men.

"Just a few more feet, Peeta," Haymitch whispers, "and then duck low behind the second tree. Bellow is going to call you out shortly after he knows you're there."

My head is pounding and I feel my grip weaken around the bow. I reach down to pick up the special arrow and Gale picks up the match. We exchange a serious glance and I load the arrow into my bow, Gale ready to light it the second Peeta starts running.

As directed, Peeta lowers himself behind the trunk of a large tree. He turns to face us, his back against the trunk as he takes a few steady breaths. He doesn't look panicked and it gives me a small shred of hope. Suddenly he looks directly towards the platform. I know he can't see us specifically, but that look is meant for me. It reminds me of the words in his letter. Stay calm. Stay sane. Follow the plan no matter what.

I nod.

I will.

Peeta turns himself back around and crouches over the edge of the trunk, peering suspiciously towards the hovercraft. His hand falls loose of his grip, taking a few pieces of bark with him and letting a loud sound resonant through the forest. All heads turn in his direction and two men, the men from the Team, wave the others off in assurance they'll check it out.

They creep towards the noise, and I see Bellow nod subtly at Peeta. It's a signal.

Peeta leaps up and begins to run. He's even faster than I remembered him from training. I hear Gale strike the match and the small flames glows towards the tip of my arrow.

"Wait! Wait!" Haymitch yells into the headpiece.

I know he must be talking to Gale, but Peeta instinctively stops and suddenly it's too late. Bellow and the other man, Aiden, are too close and I can see the expressions in their faces change. They didn't mean to catch Peeta, but now they have no choice. They collide into him as he scrambles to pick up speed again, the three men tumbling to the floor. Four other men, all connected to Snow, catch up not much later and help pull up the spies who are holding Peeta as if he was in handcuffs.

"Damnit!" Haymitch yells and I see more than just a few of us cringing at the volume.

All of the breathing picks up in the room and I can tell more than one eye has glanced my direction. Peeta struggles, but not too hard. I can't see anyone's faces as they walk away from us and it's driving me mad. There is laughing, some kind of smiling and the Peace Keepers take Peeta back to the hovercraft just as another pair of boots walk down the gate.

"What the hell?" Haymitch exclaims.

Bellow and Aiden circle around to stand 25 feet away from the gate, facing sideways and for the first time I can see all of their expressions.

As Snow himself walks onto the soft ground from the hovercraft there is a sense of anxiety in Aiden, and a nervousness in Bellow. But it is Peeta's face that drops immediately, taking mine with it.

"Peeta," Haymitch gasps, and I gasp with him. "He's got to be desperate. He would never expose himself like this unless he really had to."

My knees begin to ache against the floor but I don't move them. I'm torn to the sight before me and whimper helplessly.

"Come back to see us," Snow asks coolly, his voice magnified through our headsets.

Peeta doesn't respond, nor does he fight against the grip the two Team members have on him.

"What do I do, Haymitch?" I ask furiously.

"Just wait," he replies.

Snow walks slowly, carefully towards Peeta, looking around him as he does.

"You really thought you could get rid of us that easy? Hide a few explosives under the hovercraft and blow us up? Did you learn nothing in your luxury time with us, Mellark?"

"What?!" I hiss. "How does he know?"

Gale jabs me in the ribs. "Shut up for a second!"

Peeta's breathing is deep and uncertain, and mine follows suit.

"I'll take your silence as a no," Snow says, "and your foolish plan as a bigger no. Those pictures weren't taken here, they couldn't have been. I'm not an idiot. As soon as my men told me you were here in Twelve, I thought…what could be so special about there? Nothing sentimental, naturally. We haven't left anything for you to get sentimental about. So what else could be here that they might think would protect them against poor, little, old me?"

I think I'm going to be sick. My stomach is now completely full of vomit, but I don't dare move my hands from my bow. I fight to keep it inside, to stop it before it reaches the top of my throat.

Peeta looks like he's ready to spit in Snow's direction.

"Nothing? No guess?" Snow continues. "Well, the answer is coal, isn't it? And you've plotted it all just right so I land on a big heaping pile ready to burn up and take me with it."

Snow stares at Peeta like a snake, watching him, reading him. Peeta says nothing, gives nothing away. I see Snow breathe in deeply and then wave Bellow and Aiden off. They release their hold and Peeta drops his arms to his side.

"I'm a civil man, Peeta, so I'm going to give you one shot to redeem yourself. Where is she?" Snow asks lowly, his mouth curling upwards with his words.

Peeta still remains silent. There are no instructions in our ears. I try to focus, to think of what Peeta would do. How is everyone not screaming and running and frantically trying to sort out what to do next?

I suddenly hear Peeta's words echo in my head.

_Surprises are not always what they immediately seem, so think clearly and rationally and stay on course,_

Is this part of the plan?

"WHERE IS SHE?!" Snow shouts, this mouth curling over his teeth this time.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Peeta finally quips.

Snow snarls.

"You know we'll kill you this time, don't you? I don't need you anymore."

"You never needed me," Peeta replies. "Apparently you can find her all on your own."

Snow pauses for a second and steps closer to Peeta. He studies him, practically licks him for sampling.

"I guess you're right after all. What am I wasting my time here for, then. We head to Thirteen. I know that's where you're hiding everyone. I know that's where you'll keep her."

And then the strangest thing happens. Peeta gives us away.

His eyes go black in shock and there are lines across his forehead I didn't know existed. Peeta is the last person I would ever think to give away information with an expression. He's so calm, so collected. Nothing gets past him, nothing fazes him. Why would he so openly admit to our whole life in Thirteen like that? Why?

Snow sees the same confession and looks pleased.

"Thanks, son. You've been a big help. Bellow. Kill him."

"NO!" I scream, my voice exploding through the forest. Immediately I want to clap my hand over my mouth, but they are both occupied on the bow.

It's too late.

All of the men in the clearing jut their heads in our direction and Snow smiles.

"Look at that, Peeta," he says like ice, "we truly _don't_ need you after all."

"Tell me what to do!" I shout into the headset.

Snow waves his men towards us and I see them running in our direction.

"What do I do?!" I shout again.

"Light it! Now!" Haymitch replies.

Gale scratches another match immediately and it bursts into flames. Johanna shouts commands to the others and they all jump out of the tree, barely climbing anything as they fall to the ground, knives in hand. Gale presses the match to the fabric and it immediately glows purple. A strange odor burns into my nose.

"Hit your target, Katniss. Hit your target!" Haymitch cries into my ear.

"Not with Peeta right there!" I shout back.

"Trust me, Katniss. Do it now!"

There is chaos surrounding me now. I can hear grunts and yelps down below as Paul, Keplina, Johanna and Jacob fight three times as many men away from them. Gale is prodding me, agreeing with Haymitch, and suddenly Johanna screams from below.

"Katniss!!!! Shoot it!!!!"

All I see is Peeta, standing only a few feet from Snow, looking strangely helpless under his gaze.

"Get out of there…" I mumble anxiously, my bow ready and tight in my hands.

"Stop waiting, Katniss! Do it!" Haymitch tries one more time.

_No matter what happens, listen to Haymitch, to Johanna, to Gale, _Peeta's words echo again.

A loud smash shortens my attention and grabs me from the side. I look just in time to see one of the Peace Keepers crashing through the platform towards us.

"She's up here," he calls out loudly.

But Gale has an arrow in his throat before he can say anything else.

The Peace Keeper falls backwards, off the platform and through the branches. We hear cracking and creaking and smashing as his limp body falls hard to the ground. Another smash and Gale is not quick enough. A pair of giant arms reach around him and throw him against the back wall. A large crack develops and I feel the weight of our thrashing moving the large branch we're perched on.

Haymitch is screaming in my ear, telling me to shoot the arrow. I can hardly hear him anymore with the adrenaline pumping, the grunts and fighting below me, the explosions of intruders up here. The goggles I'm wearing hinder my reactions to everything up close, but I know I'll lose sight of everything else if I throw them off. I look at the arrow, glowing purple and look one last time at Peeta.

Gale leaps forward and begins fighting against the Peace Keeper, screaming in my ear to release the arrow. Bellow and Aiden still flank Peeta and they look more nervous than before. Snow is yelling, but I can't hear over Haymitch's screams. And then he looks at the tree, pleading in his eyes. Peeta. Telling me, begging me, to release the arrow.

I can't believe I'm doing it, but before I can stop myself my fingers are loosening around the bow.

_I'll come back to you if you do,_ he'd said.

The arrows releases, flies through the air with perfect precision and I hear Haymitch scream, "Peeta! NOW!"

Then three things happen at once. I see the arrow dart directly into the ground next to Snow's feet, a specific target Johanna had pointed out earlier. Peeta, Bellow and Aiden all leap backwards something like ten feet. And a massive purple ball explodes around Snow, rushing around in strange shapes and lines, one leading straight to the bottom of the hovercraft.

All noise stops. Gale has finished wrestling with the Peace Keeper and looks at his tangled body in the branches below. Johanna and Paul hold their bloody knives to their sides while the mess of bodies cringes and fights to breathe. Haymitch is silent in our ears.

Snow, however, is captured behind some kind of blazing purple wall, deep smoke billowing from the earth where it's on fire. The hovercraft is singeing as I watch, wires popping, metal buckling. It gives out loud moans and creaks and the natural formation folds. He staggers back, terrified, like a tiny rodent stuck in a mouse trap.

My eyes search for Peeta, for Bellow, for Aiden. I don't see anything. Anyone. I finally reach up and throw off the goggles and toss my bow aside. Gale is panting beside me and I suddenly feel so completely light-headed I know I can't stay upright any longer.

I give in to the sensation, my body tingling, my eyes fading out like a bad TV connection, my stomach twisting and revolting like I've swallowed an entire swarm of bees. I can't hear straight anymore. The world is falling into slow motion.

I see Gale fall over me, hear him calling something sounding like my name, and then catch the slightest glimpse of blonde hair before everything goes dark.


	10. Blue Skies and Capitol Towers

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games**

_**I love all of the reviews! You guys give me great ideas and make me want to write more. :) Please keep them coming and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!!!**_

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"I couldn't believe how perfectly it all went," Peeta exclaims cheerfully. "I was a little worried there for a second that Katniss wouldn't be able to do it, but deep down I know her too well. She's a fighter. Even as much as I know she loves me she realizes there is a bigger play at stake."

"Try watching her!" Haymitch replies with equal enthusiasm. "I was screaming in her ear and she wasn't moving and I thought Gale was going to have to step in after all. He's nowhere near as good a shot as she is, though, and having to rely on his skills made me even MORE nervous!"

"Hey!" Gale shouts. "I could've made it…maybe…"

There is laughter around me, but it's muffled, as if there is a very thin wall between. My eyes don't open immediately, but my ears have been listening for the last fifteen minutes, trying to catch the conversation. I blink and move slowly, trying to find my bearings and release some of the weight of sleepiness before taking in the room I'm lying in. It's dim in here but as I turn my head from side to side I can see light peeking through heavy, tall curtains. I move my shoulders and feel them sink deeper into a very thick, very soft bed. I blink again, willing my eyes to adjust to the light. The more I realize I don't know the less tired I feel.

"So how much time do think we've got now," Peeta asks casually.

"Oh, at least a week," Haymitch replies with the same nonchalant tone, "maybe more. Those flames have nearly destroyed the hovercraft. Marco and Dennisille will take their time working on it, too. Communications will be down with them for at least five days, and then we'll get regular check-ups. We just have to be really careful. Snow is a very smart man. He fell into this trap like a champ, but I don't know if he'll fall into the second one just as easily. As long as he never changes his mind, and he rarely does…"

There's silence for a second and I can almost hear them thinking. I listen for more sounds to help me understand the room, but I hear a quiet drip and I know all too well what it means. Squeezing my fingers into a weak fist, I feel the memorable sensation – wires and tubes stuck into the veins on the back of my hand. I groan in disgust, but barely audibly.

"You should have seen the look on Snow's face when those flames went up!" Gale adds loudly. "Too bad the chemicals were designed to destroy metals! Maybe if he'd had a fake leg like Peeta here, we'd be in business!"

There is more laughter and then a quick shushing.

"You're going to wake her up," Haymitch tries to say softly, but I can hear a hint of laughter still on his voice.

When did Peeta and Gale become friends? Peeta never talked about it much, but I was certain the idea of him being able to touch me was repulsive and abhorrent to Gale. Painful to say the least.

A couple more drips and I sit up slowly. My body accepts the movement easily and I spin to set my legs over the side of the bed, throwing the heavy and warm blankets off my body. I'm only in a thin nightdress and imagine Peeta dressing me. It's cold out of the bed, but I ignore the goosebumps and look at my hand. With another low groan, I exhale and pull the tubes out.

"Ugh," I say in a nearly silent, gruff voice. "No thanks."

The now open veins bleed and I look around for something to press onto them. The room is more discernable at this point and I can tell that this bed is massive. There is a bedside table next to me, but only a long, curvy lamp to take up space and I look around the room for anything else. There is a tall window on one wall and large, double doors on the opposite side. A small table sits next to the door, but it only holds a bouquet of feathers. Then I see two smaller doors with a grand, wooden vanity indented in a small space between. One of these has to be a bathroom and surely there would be a towel or something to lie on my hand for a while.

I scoot off the bed, my feet pressing down into a soft, plush carpet. It looks pale, almost matching the color of the walls, and I walk slowly, carefully towards the doors. The first one I open is a closet, full of strange smells and clothes I've never seen before.

Where am I?

I pass the vanity in a couple short steps and open the other door. It's brighter in here and the windows are half open. A claw-foot bathtub takes up the center of the room and I immediately see a few towels hanging sloppily over the edge. I wonder if Peeta had bathed earlier and shake the image of his tone body out of my head, though so much has happened in the last month it feels good to have a carefree thought.

The smallest towel balls perfectly around my left hand and I sigh deeply, leaning down against the narrow edge of the tub. I release the rest of my weight onto the side, but realize too late I can't keep my balance and fall, clanging and flailing into the porcelain hole.

I hear the doors swing open a second later. A loud clink and swooshing noise tells me the curtains are flying open in the bedroom and see a bright light spill over the carpet outside. Peeta reaches me at the same time in the bathroom and laughs at my precarious position – my body nearly folded in half, my legs sticking out one side, with my head on the other.

"Well don't just stand there," I huff, "help me out of here."

Peeta laughs again and reaches for my waist, picking me up completely before setting me down on the ground.

"How are you feeling? Rested?" He asks, pushing the hair out of my face.

"Yes, but I could've done without the needles." I raise my toweled hand and he chuckles some more.

"We weren't sure what you needed. Just precautionary, of course. You scared us half to death fainting like that. We didn't know if you'd been shot or stabbed or something."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Thank you. Just don't do it again unless I honestly, seriously, without a shadow of a doubt need it."

I hear another laugh and look up to see Haymitch in the doorway. He looks jovial and sober.

"Welcome back to the living, sweetheart," he says with a smile.

I raise my hand to him as well. "Peeta knows how to handle the situation next time, got it?"

Haymitch nods once with the same grin and I wonder what the men are so pleased about. They've been laughing outside the room for a while now, but it doesn't sound like we're done with Snow.

"I take it by the look of you that you're pleased with what happened…what, yesterday? This morning? How long have I been sleeping?"

"Not too long – just 22 hours or so –"

"Wait, I've been out for an entire day?!"

Peeta nods and doesn't skip a beat. "– and yes. Everything went perfectly."

"Yeah, right to the plan," Gale adds, now standing beside Haymitch.

My heart lifts and I try to remember the last scene. I remember Haymitch screaming at me, and I remember everyone telling me to shoot the arrow into the coal pile while Peeta was still standing there. And then I did, but it wasn't the explosion I was expecting. A large purple wall of flames engulfed Snow like a fence just as Peeta, Aiden and Bellow blew backwards from its reach. I don't remember Snow lying on the ground in the twisted, contorted position I imagined his death would bring, either.

"What exactly happened?" I try, but Haymitch shrugs me off.

"We'll tell you about it at dinner. I swear. Every last bit. Take a bit of time, get dressed and we'll fill that body with some REAL sustenance."

He says this strangely and that reminds me of one question before he walks away. I step past Peeta and call at Haymitch and Gale's backs just as they reach the door.

"By the way, where are we?"

I hear one last chuckle and Haymitch calls back, "the Capitol."

I stand in place and let it soak in. _The Capitol? What are we doing here? Wasn't everything destroyed? I saw District 12. I heard about the Capitol bombings. Isn't everything left in Panem except for District 13 nothing but rubble?_

I look around the room again, now fully lit with daylight and see that it is a beautifully furnished space. The giant bed, all the tables, the vanity, the carpet. Everything looks perfect and untouched. Definitely not victim of a violent bombing. I turn around to face Peeta, catching him in the doorway as he walks towards me.

"Please, explain that much," I say almost pleadingly.

Peeta doesn't speak right away, but shrugs towards the window and I follow him over. Sunlight floods my face and it takes a second to focus on the world below. When it does, I'm amazed by what I see.

The city that had once twinkled and bustled with the latest crazy fashion trends and ignorant, happy people is now a wasteland, a giant grey pile of concrete, glass and mess. Where tall towers used to spread out along the skyline, I can see unobstructed for miles. The entire ambience that was this massive, completely unaware world is nothing but a stretch of ash and junk. There are no cars driving along the roads, no people shouting or cheering. I look a little harder and realize there are people out there, though. To the left there is a group of men working hard as they shovel piles of dirt and throw chunks of brick into organized sections. To the right, a group of children playing, hopping over obstacles and laughing.

That's when I realize we're high in the air. My view towers over everything below and I try to remember the layout of the city. What building we must be standing in…what tower might have survived?

"We're in the training center?" I ask, baffled.

Peeta continues to gaze out the window and replies simply, "Yep."

"But how…I mean…did Snow intend for this to stay put? How is it not like everything else?"

Peeta turns to me now.

"Remember the force field on the roof?"

I nod.

"Well, when you want it to, it can cover more than just the air off the top of the building."

"Was that Snow's plan or yours?"

"Snow's, but we didn't want to stop him. He had it installed after the first seven rebel spies infiltrated the Capitol. He wanted to secure the one place that, for him, represented the Capitol's control over everyone else, their dominance. However, as soon as Pierot heard about it, he started formulating the plan that we're following through now. It's perfect and Snow couldn't be any wiser about it."

"And you're going to wait to give me the details of the rest of the plan like always, aren't you?" The brightness of the sky fills me and it's hard to get angry even though I really want to.

Peeta steps into me, wrapping his arms around me. I lift mine to allow his limbs to completely encircle my waist and squish myself against his chest. I can feel his rough hands through the thin fabric of my nightdress and I have a good guess he can feel the small of my back as well. I nestle in closer to his body and he squeezes a bit tighter, sighing and kissing the top of my head.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?"

"For warning me."

I can feel Peeta smile across the crown of my head. "If you didn't trust me so much I might have had to worry."

I smile back against his body. "Yeah. You're lucky I still do after all the secrets you've kept from me."

Peeta doesn't reply, but I can tell his smile stays. I let out a gentle kiss onto his chest and close my eyes, inhaling him. Even though I am completely aware that what I thought was a done deal a day ago still has more to go, and even though I should feel burdened with the idea of this, I am content to stay in Peeta's arms for a little longer, blissfully unaware of the details that hang on other's shoulders. There is something that feels peaceful right now. Maybe it was the cheerfulness the three men displayed as I awoke, maybe it's still the bright blue sky, but I can't help but feel like whatever the Brain has up their sleeve now is going to be as concise and intelligent just as brilliant as everything they've done in the last 15 years has been. And something tells me this is really it. This is really the end.

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I fiddle with my dress uncomfortably as we wait for the elevator to take us down.

"Stop that already," Peeta scolds. "You look beautiful and I know you've worn worse things than that before."

"It's not the type of dress, I just haven't worn one in a while and I feel strange."

"I told you back in the room you didn't have to put _anything_ on, but you insisted. So, it's your fault if you're unhappy with all that fabric covering the best parts of you."

I give Peeta a look, half rolling my eyes and shaking my head. The closet had been stocked with clothes that fit me perfectly. Some of them were a little to outrageous for my tastes and I was sure these were old clothing items left by tributes in the past. This wasn't the room either Peeta or I stayed in during our time here, but were certainly on the 12th floor. I didn't care much one way or the other – I was just happy to have something clean to put on.

The dress is dark blue and hits just below the knees in a simple shape. It would be a very comfortable and otherwise flattering outfit to put on (which I know from all of the time with the Hunger Games even though I honestly never cared much about what I wore), but it didn't feel quite right. Maybe it was just me that didn't feel right. I certainly felt rested, but anytime I've slept that long I always seem to feel like I could just a little bit more.

The elevator doors slide open and Peeta and I step in. We're lucky there was isolated generative power for this building. It is completely self-sustaining so we have lights, power, running water. I don't know how many people are here with us, how many lucky Thirteeners have been able to shower and sleep in real beds, but I have a feeling it's a packed house. I think quickly about District 13 and wonder how my mother and Prim are doing. Maybe they're here, too. I don't ask Peeta, but make a mental note to do so later.

When the doors open again I immediately hear the sound of people talking and moving and bustling about. Peeta grabs my hand and leads me out into a hallway full of smiling faces. I recognize many of them, but everyone is so clean, it's a little hard to decipher who is who without tattered clothes hanging off their shoulders.

"Good to see you, Katniss," one man says gleefully. He's wearing a navy suit with a tan shirt unbuttoned at the top. He looks quite sharp if I do say so myself. Peeta, of course, in his dark grey suit and white shirt is absolutely gorgeous and there's no avoiding it no matter who you are.

I smile back and thank the man just as another approaches with a similar sentiment. I keep my hand tightly enclosed in Peeta's and let him lead me forward, smiling and greeting and thanking everyone as they say hello or welcome me back. They crowd around us and I try to move closer in to Peeta's side, but it's not much help. Just as long as he doesn't drop my hand and leave me here to the happy mob.

We walk through a pair of double doors, propped open, and see a large dining hall. There must be at least 300 hundred people in this space, possibly more. Tables are crowded and many are standing with plates in their hands, but everyone is laughing and smiling and as soon as we enter their attention turns to us with more cheer than I care to understand.

And then they begin to clap.

For us?

I look around to see who else is behind us, but all eyes are definitely directed at Peeta and me. I look towards him, but he is looking at his feet bashfully. He doesn't stop and continues to pull me forward until I see Haymitch standing and beaming towards us. Finnick is at his side, as well as Gale, and then my expression lifts when I see my mother and Prim at the table, looking just as satisfied. I drop Peeta's hand and run to them. Prim steps away from the table and meets me half way, throwing her arms around me. I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her tightly.

"You didn't say good-bye!" I scold.

"I couldn't – I was already here," she replied.

"What?" I ask. "When did you leave?"

"While you were sleeping. But I knew I would see you again. You're Katniss Everdeen – of course I would see you again."

Prim's face lights up with pride and I remember just how much I love the way she thinks of me. She's always trusted me, looked up to me. When I got home from the first Hunger Games she told me that she knew I would come home because I was the smartest one in there.

My mother moves to us, more slowly than Prim had. Her smile is not as exuberant, but then she has never had the enthusiasm Prim or I have had. The enthusiasm of our father. She sighs and then opens her arms. I fall into them easily and give her strong, but short hug.

"I'm so glad you're back," she coos.

It feels good to have a mother treating me like I am her child for once, even though I'm far from the kid she abandoned so many years ago.

The clapping subsides and Peeta pulls out a chair for me next to Gale.

"Quite the entrance, eh?" Gale says as he dives into a pile of mash. The smell is intoxicating and I sit back eagerly as Prim sets a plate in front of me. "We got something similar, but I tell you what, they wouldn't stop asking about you. Wondered when you were going to show up."

"Why?" I ask shyly.

Haymitch laughs. "You're their leader, remember?"

I hadn't remembered, actually, and its strange being reminded of this fact whenever I am. The last time it had really been brought up was after I socked Haymitch for being so expressive with his sexual references in regards to my husband and me. We'd needed to be more public with our affections, he told me. I could keep my clothes on, just kiss the boy once in a while when someone else is in the room. The people wanted to know that what they had followed into the caves was real and still as much on fire as it was before. Funny thing for people to follow, but I suppose when your relationship with someone starts an entire world into rebellion, how can you really hide it?

Johanna joins us a little bit later and sits close to Finnick. They've built a solid friendship over the last couple of months and I can tell they find comfort in each other's personalities. I dive into the food, savoring every last bit. Jokes are made, random comments are sent from one of the table to the other. Everyone is in an explicitly good mood and I wonder how long it will last.

I survey the bodies in this large space. Everyone is dressed beautifully. Some are even in the more eccentric pieces I would've shied away from. Heads of hair washed and coifed, fingernails cleaned and shiny. The women are radiant, the men are strong. So many of these faces I've watched sink in as food grew more and more scarce. I've seen mothers cry over their children and men hunker over lost loved ones. I've watched these people become lovers and parents, teenagers and adults, all in such a short time…and every one of them is here because I was brave enough to tell someone no.

"Wine?" A gentle voice asks, stirring my attention.

I turn back to the table and see Keplina standing over me with a tall green bottle in hand.

"Of course she'll have wine," Haymitch adds. For the first time tonight I realize he's sober. "We'll all have wine…just a small glass for me, though,"

Prim chuckles and Finnick slaps him on the back.

"What are we toasting?" I ask, my eyes circling the table.

"We're toasting a job well done, and cheering to the final act of this play going off…explosively."

Everyone else laughs and I reach for the glass. Gale and Prim stand and the rest of us follow suit until we're standing in a tight circle, our glasses raised in front of us.

"Well, good work yesterday to everyone. To Finnick, for getting everyone out safely and here to the Capitol, to Peeta for playing the part perfectly, to Johanna, Paul, Jacob and Keplina for fearlessly taking out the Peace Keepers and protecting our spies, to Gale for keeping Katniss safe, and to Katniss for having the balls to potentially kill the man she loves in stake of the rest of you scum."

There are loud cheers and a few laughs and the glasses begin to clink together. I bring my glass back, but the second the smell of the wine hits my nose I think I'm going to be sick. I clasp my mouth shut, drop the glass on the table unable to stop it from spilling, and look for a bathroom.

"Katniss?" Prim asks, immediately catching my reaction. "Over there!" She points towards a set of doors to the far side of the room and I take off running, grateful there were flats in the closet to go with this dress.

I hear Prim stop Peeta and follow me into the toilet stall. I stand for a moment over the porcelain, but realize it's no use and drop my face towards the water. All of the delicious food comes back up in a muddled, burning mess and Prim holds my hair gently to the side.

She doesn't say anything to me, but Prim was always good with things like this. Something good she gets from my mother. If the roles were reversed I can't say I could sit and watch her send these gross pink and green chunks out of her throat without doing the same or running from the room.

After a second good round of hurling, I can tell my stomach is empty again. I sit back on my legs and prim drops my hair, handing me a wad of tissue paper instead.

"Well at least you'll never be an alcoholic like Haymitch," Prim jokes.

I let out one huff of laughter and nod, but something tells me this isn't about the wine. Prim doesn't think so either.

"I thought this might be the case," she says softly, letting herself fall to the floor next to me. "When they told me you were dizzy, and even that you blacked out, I knew it couldn't be because of the mission itself. You're too brave for that."

I look up at her, my eyes frightened, but receptive.

"It's possible," I reply, "but I really hope I've just got the flu."


	11. For the First Time, a Real Explanation

**DISLCAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games**

* * *

Prim helps me off the floor and I wash my mouth out a few times with water at the sinks.

"Katniss," she begins, leaning against the stall door, "what if it's not the flu?"

I don't look up and splash some water onto my face. I don't want to think about it…not yet. Not until I think we're all safe. Not until I think it's possible to raise a child without the Hunger Games or the Capitol to destroy its life. Not until I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this war is over. Not until then.

This gives me a new fervency and I grab a towel to dry my cheeks. I have to understand everything that has, and is about to happen in this war.

And I have to talk to my mother.

I throw the towel beside the sink and turn to face Prim. She stands upright, taking her back off the stall and watches me carefully.

"You're not going to try to hide this from me, are you?" She asks seriously.

I take a moment to respond, trying to think of what would be my honest answer. "No," I finally say, "but you're going to have to help me with mom."

Prim's eyes don't widen like I expect them to. Maybe because she's a lot more like my mother and maybe because she's not easily turned away by anything, but she just nods once and contemplates what that means. My mother isn't an overly emotional person, but she can be stern and has gotten angry before. I don't know how she's going to take all of this. I'm sure she understands how I feel about Peeta, how he feels about me. And a couple weeks ago, when I finally told her about the toasting, she seemed somber, but accepting of my decision. She loves me, I know she does. I just can't always be certain when she's going to come fully to life and when she's going to remain slightly distant.

As Prim and I head for the exit I try to straighten my dress and smooth my hair. Prim assures me there's no residue left behind from my recent toilet bowl reunion and I nod appreciatively. Peeta sees me the second I walk into the main room and steps towards me.

"Are you all right?" He asks gently, being careful not to touch me in case it'll upset something.

"Yeah, I just got a little sick." I exchange a subtle glance with Prim. "Maybe I was coming down with something before the mission and that's why I was so dizzy. I don't know. I feel okay, just needed to get it out of my system, I think."

"You sure? 'Cause we can go back to the room right now and you can get more rest."

"I didn't put on a dress to take it off five minutes later," I joke.

"Hmm…" Peeta replies with a slight smirk. "What about ten minutes?"

I blush, realizing that Prim is standing beside me, even though she now explicitly knows what goes on behind closed doors. I let out a fake chuckle and wrap my arm around Peeta's side, walking next to him and back to the table. A few others ask how I'm doing and I tell them the same convincing lie. Until I see my mother's odd expression and feel red seeping under the pores of my face.

We shoot the breeze a little longer, but I'm anxious for answers. Even though I'm trying to play it cool with Prim, I can't help but consider what could be going on inside of me…what could be growing in my belly. This presses on my mind more and more as nonsense fills the room and I try to think of ways to arrange the conversation back to the topic I care about most.

Finally, Johanna stands up and yawns and announces that she's going to head to bed. This creates a chain reaction and the rest of the table agrees. I reach over and place a hand on Haymitch before he can stand and he understands. He remains seated, wishing the others sweet dreams and well wishes and takes a lingering drink from his water glass. Prim looks at me, but I look away as soon as I see her eyes. I have a feeling my mother is still looking at me, too, and I don't dare give myself away to her. I think I could probably be pretty coy if I wanted to – I've lied to her before. But this is different. I don't know how well I can hide _this_ concern from her.

Once the table clears, I realize that besides Peeta, Finnick, Gale, Haymitch and myself, there is hardly anyone left in this large room. I can still hear loud laughing and talking and sort out the party must have moved elsewhere.

''So," I dive in, "tell me what happened. Tell me what we're doing next."

Haymitch laughs heartily. "Is that what you were trying to keep so secret?"

I don't mean to, but I blush. Despite my best efforts post-upchuck, I was too obvious.

"You know, it's okay to talk about it in front of everyone else. They all know."

"Oh," I say, trying to laugh at myself without much reward.

Haymitch lifts an eyebrow and I look down at the cleared place in front of me. I wish I had something to pick at, something to keep my hands from being idle. An excuse to not look him in the eye.

"Sorry we didn't tell you everything before," Peeta jumps in. He's to my side opposite Haymitch and can't see my face unless I turn it to him. I'm glad for that. "We knew that Snow was after you and didn't want to run the risk in case you got captured."

My mouth drops open.

"That was a possibility?"

"Of course it was, Katniss," Gale adds, "why do you think we had you under such serious watch? Well…besides the fact that we knew you'd likely run away."

"I wasn't going to run away once Peeta arrived," I try to add, but it's a useless note.

"They have technology…" Haymitch stops to think for a second. ""We knew you wouldn't tell them anything, but this new machine…it's been in the works for years and Snow finally perfected it. It's technology that can read minds."

"Are you mocking me?" I ask annoyed.

"Of course not, Katniss," Finnick says sweetly, "But that's why we've been so careful in who we tell anything _real_ to. We wanted you to know everything, trust me, but we also knew that you were the number one person Snow wanted to capture and kill and should that happen, should such a horrible thing happen, we wanted to protect the mission as much as we could."

"Not to forsake you, of course," Gale chimes in quickly, "but we thought you might be safer if he thought you could still learn what our current and future plans were. We were trying to protect everyone."

"If he can read minds, why doesn't he read the mind of everyone on his side? Try to find out who the spies are?"

Peeta steps in. "A couple reasons. He's only just perfected this machine and I don't think he's willing to risk it until he's certain there _are_ spies. And I'm sure he's always been suspicious, but the more strength and confidence he exudes, the more power he contains. If he has to resort to the obvious, showing that he himself is not actually capable of seeing what's going without cheap tricks, the men think there is nothing they can hide from him. I'm sure it wouldn't have lasted much longer, though. Another few days and he would have certainly brought it out, and then we would have been in real trouble."

I don't have time to argue this point, so I try to concentrate on the real question I have burrowing in my chest. How much longer is this going to go on? Are we really at the end? Should I be terrified about the possibility of having a baby because I don't know how to be a parent, or because I don't know if it has any chance of living a free life?

"All right. Now explain to me what really happened in Twelve then, because Snow is obviously not dead. Where do we go from here?"

"We have one final step," Finnick says. "I swear. This is it…as long as it works."

I look at him sternly, then turn to face Haymitch again.

"What is it?" I say with a certain attempt at dominance.

He takes in my feverish need to know more and understands that there is something behind it. I hate that Haymitch can be this perceptive.

"Well, I suppose I should start from the beginning. We never intended to kill Snow during this last mission."

"What?!"

"No. He's got too many men, too much going on to be able to just kill him like that. But we had to corner him, keep him moving in our plan."

"Where are you leading him now?"

Haymitch doesn't hesitate. "Thirteen."

I wait a second to reply, but don't let my silence linger.

"What's in Thirteen that we don't have anywhere else?"

"Something large enough to take out every single person on Snow's side."

I exhale and sit back into my chair. I don't ask another question, but wave my hand for Haymitch to continue.

"Well, we needed Snow to think that we were larger in numbers than we are, so we had to take out most of the men that were with him. Make him think we're fierce, prepared, strong."

"Are we not?"

"No, not really," Finnick adds. "In actual numbers, maybe, but we've got everyday citizens…he's got career fighters."

Peeta turns a little in his seat. "We also needed Snow to be confident he knows where we're _really_ hiding. The ploy in District 12 was too simple for him to ever really fall for, and besides, we knew he wouldn't come in full force. We needed to do something to scare him, shake him up a little bit, to weaken him in a small way to buy us time and get him to the point he believes he has to have everyone with him."

I exhale again and sink lower into the chair. My hands fold across my stomach instinctively.

"All 6 pilots Snow has with him work for us. He loaded 20 men onto his hovercraft to head to District 12 and our spies on the ground told him they thought they'd seen you with Peeta, hunting. Even though Snow is a really brilliant man, and he knew it was a set-up, his curiousity got the best of him. Besides, if he could kill Peeta and the rest of us he thought he'd have a better chance of getting to you."

"What about the other two hovercrafts? Where were they?"

Peeta laughs. I think he's pleased I'm thinking so hard about this.

"They were on their way to District 13. Snow sent them there because all along I think he's really thought that was where we were hiding. He is curious, though, like Haymitch said, so when hints were dropped he followed them closely. He wasn't sure if we were really leading him away from Thirteen or if we were making it sound like we were but were actually giving him real directions to us in hopes he would stay away."

I swallow.

"The pilots didn't get far from District 12 when they faked crashes and damages and unloaded all the Peace Keepers for repairs. And then they just took off." Gale and Finnick laugh and I imagine the goofs of men standing there, baffled as their hovercrafts literally just disappear before their eyes. "The hovercrafts were miles and miles from anywhere when they pretended to need to land, but the two pilots on Snow's hovercraft wouldn't have to report the mutany until after the attack on our part. Communications would go down, and the next thing they'd know, the ships were gone."

"Snow never asked for updates from the other two ships prior to the attack?"

"He did, but we knew he would. Our pilots kept him overly reported on the most mundane facts so that Snow would stop wanting to hear them. Simple things like that can go a long way in the grand scheme of things." Finnick smiles and Haymitch sits forward.

"What happens when Snow realizes they were obviously lying?"

"He doesn't. For all Snow will now, they were getting actual reports. That they landed, that the Peace Keepers were hiding and waiting. Snow will never have to know his two pilots were in on the plot."

"And you think he'll buy it?"

"He won't have any choice at the moment. Those two pilots are the only pilots he has left."

I take a big gulp of water and simmer on this information for a moment, trying to make lines and graphs in my mind. Trying to find any holes, any chance things could have gone wrong.

"What happened to his hovercraft? When we attacked it…the purple flame? What did that do? I thought we were lighting a coal explosion."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot about that," Haymitch says and takes his own big gulp of water. "There is a special chemical the original Thirteeners were constructing for the Capitol years ago. Of course, they said they could never quite got it right, but really they were just keeping the secret to themselves. Once lit, it only attacks metals and leaves flesh and things of the natural world untouched. The idea being that you could destroy the manmade but leave a pristine world intact. Perfect for rebuilding without all the destruction of bombing places to pieces in the process."

"It wasn't coal planted under his hovercraft? It was this material?"

"Yes. We planted metal cords doused in the chemical, designed to surround Snow so he could not escape, and to seriously damage his hovercraft in the process, giving us more time to get everyone out and prepare for the final blow. All it took was your arrow to ignite."

I picture Peeta, Bellow and Aiden launched backwards and imagine the force the strange purple flame must have. If it can't damage a human, it certainly can repel them…like a forcefield.

"Once Snow's hovercraft is fixed they'll report the missing men and use a tracking system to find the stranded and confused duffs of men he's got in his army. It is our guess that planning from this point will take a week. Snow will be so flustered by the time he gets together with all of his men he'll need a little bit of time to recuperate and come up with a line of attack. Thanks to Peeta's reaction he's more confident than ever we're all hiding out in District 13 and he wants to find a way to get to us."

"I'm sure he's wondering why we took two hovercrafts unless we were planning on moving people," I add.

Haymitch lifts his eyes in approval.

"Yes, I'm sure he's wondering that as well. But believe it or not, Snow doesn't want all of Panem dead. Then who would he control? He thinks he knows us, and thinks that we'll evacuate all of our weaker parties to this exact place we are now, but that those of us that are willing to fight, somewhere in the hundreds of people, are sticking around and waiting for him in Thirteen. He wants to kill all of us, but mostly he wants to kill you. And even if he still believes you're having Peeta's child he knows you won't be left behind without a full fleet of protection. Where you are is what matters most to him."

Something twists inside of me and I fight the feeling to express it on my face. What if I really _am_ having Peeta's child?

"But we're not…" I look at Gale, who's been quiet for a while. He sits up a little and takes the chance to enter the conversation.

"The two hovercrafts shut off all their trackers and communications with the outside world. We couldn't be sure they were even okay and doing what they were supposed to, but at least that way we knew Snow would never catch what was going on until it was too late. After unloading almost 80 Peacekeepers, they took off towards Thirteen and transported nearly 600 people back and forth to the Capitol."

Finnick looks at me, slightly proud, and I remember the cheers Haymitch had given him earlier. He had left with us on the hovercraft…how was he anywhere else?

"It's not a long hovercraft trip between Twelve and Thirteen. They took me back to the caves as soon as you were on the ground. Johanna was a great leader and we knew we could trust her while we were out of sight. Besides, it wouldn't look good to have our hovercraft hanging around when Snow arrived. Haymitch looped back around and followed them to you. Sometimes the best hiding spot is right on the tail of your enemies."

I shake my head slightly. "You mean, all that time we were perched on a tree branch, you were running back and forth between the Capitol and District 13?"

"No," Haymitch corrects, "all that time you were perched on a tree branch we were dropping Finnick off to lead the Thirteeners out of the caves while we followed Snow's tail. The hovercrafts caught up to them soon after that."

"So when did everyone get moved?"

"Well, we'd started moving them in the night. While you were sleeping."

I remember what Prim had told me and try to think about it again.

"We were able to get two large loads of people into the Capitol before the hovercraft had to be back this morning. It wasn't easy, but we made it in packed loads of about 100 people per shift. By the time you woke up there were 200 busy rebels preparing rooms and meals for everyone else to come to this training center."

How long of a trip is it between Thirteen and the Capitol? I was always on a train when I headed that direction. Four or five hours in a hovercraft, I would guess, which is infinitely faster than anything on land. If they had two hovercrafts with Finnick, with a 100 people per stretch, that would mean in just under 10 hours they could get everyone safely from District 13 to the Capitol before Snow was ever the wiser. Long before Snow even landed in Twelve, his hovercrafts, sent to Thirteen to spy on our "real" hideout, were commandeered by rebel spies and busy removing any last trace of human life from the caves.

We all fall silent, thinking long and seriously about this information. Even though the men around me have obviously known this plan and thought about the details for a long time, they look considerate as if they are contemplating it for the first time along with me. I feel another twist in my stomach and clutch my hands a little tighter around the area. It's intricate and thoughtful, this plan, but I still don't have an answer to the most important question lurking in my mind. I still don't know how to react if what I think might be happening in me is honestly happening.

I sigh deeply and Peeta reaches over to place his hand on my thigh. It's not a sexual touch, though any other time it probably would be. It's more intimate than anything, and comforting. My heart flutters a little and I look at him for the first time this whole conversation. He looks right back, his bright blue eyes boring into mine. They are full of love and excitement and contentment. They are full of peace. Confidence. I want my eyes to be full of the same emotions.

"Haymitch," I say breaking away from our stare, "I think I understand most of what's happening. Let me know if I really do: Snow realizes he's fallen exactly into the trap he thought he would, and now his hovercraft has been damaged and we have to wait for it to be repaired by the pilots, our spies. Once it's repaired, Snow only has 8 people left with him, including the pilots, and will have to go find the rest of his Peace Keepers before he heads into District 13. You're expecting a week of preparation time before he moves in."

"Basically, yes. That's where we're at right now."

"Wow…" Finnick scoffs. "If I had realized it could be that quick to explain I would've gone to bed a long time ago."

I'm the one that laughs this time and silently thank Finnick for existing.

"Okay, so here's my big question," I say, "what's the next move? In a week, what happens? We fight?"

"No," Peeta replies. "For starters, we'd undoubtedly lose a lot of men and women in a battle. Snow has a large army in his care. Like we said before, about 80 Peace Keepers and Capitol leaders that are trained, career killers. We might have more than six times as many bodies, but they would drop faster than we could blink and in the end it would be the kind of bloodbath Snow loves."

"Plus, we'd run the risk of losing men into the woods and hills. We need them concentrated in one space…we need, somehow, to have a way to take them all out at once," Haymitch adds. "But Snow will be expecting a fight, I'm sure o fit. He loves big productions and will go into the caves with every solider he has, prepared to annihilate us."

I look around the table and study the faces of these men. None of them look tired, though I think they should be.

"So how are we going to do it? How are we going to get them once they're in the caves?"

Peeta looks at me sweetly, excitement still in his eyes.

"It's going to involve a few jabberjays and a nuclear reactor deep in the heart of District 13."

* * *

_**Thank you for reading!!!! This is a big plot chapter, so I apologize. It was a little tedious to write, and I'm sure it could be a little tedious to read, but it was important to get the information in line. There are serious things on the line here… :)**_


	12. If In Any Other Life

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games**

_**For all of you that read the previous chapter, I just apologize again for the tedious reading. But for all of you who excitedly reviewed the last couple chapters…here are the answers you're looking for. :)**_

* * *

A crack in the curtain lets in the bold moonlight like a spotlight onto the edge of the bed. I watch particles of dust spiral and dance in the blue light, my mind dancing and spiraling with it. I can hear Peeta sleeping deeply beside me, his low and even breath a soothing sound.

I have two problems before me. The first being a war that has raged for the last few months in a devastating path across all of Panem, taking with it the lives of nearly everyone that used to live here, and the second being a sickness and weakness that sends me to the bathroom at least once a day. I wait to be wrong about my suspicions, try to eat breads full of herbs and medicines found around the training center, but nothing seems to help. I remain in a constant state of illness, a subtle nausea I tell no one about. Prim tries to inconspicuously bring me salted crackers and fizzy drinks, but I never openly discuss with her the weight on my chest at the blossoming and increasing reality of a small, perfect child growing just above my hips. She suspects right alongside me, but for now I can't manage to form the actual words aloud.

Peeta shifts slightly and I turn to look at him. His blonde hair falls along his face, his skin smooth and cheeks a faint shade of peach. His lips are perfectly shaped, full enough to feel like you're kissing a soft pillow, but firm enough to feel the passion behind the movement. How many kisses I've been blessed to receive from those lips…how many more I hope to experience.

I look back out towards the window and my heart fills with both hope and pain. It's been three days since I woke up in this room, and three days since I realized exactly what had happened on our mission to District 12. In another few days Snow will follow the sound of hundreds of jabberjays deep into the caves, thinking he's storming our headquarters. What he'll find instead is a nuclear bomb, set to detonate by the landmines that surround it. There are practically no spaces left between them and anyone charging the sound of my voice will surely find their foot on one of these and instantly make it the last footstep they ever make.

There will be no more District 13. There will be no more districts, period. There will just be one world, a new Panem, a united nation trying to rebuild a life that was so revoltingly ripped away from us. Tomorrow afternoon I will take the stage outside this building, standing next to my husband, and address the survivors. Prepare them for the best, and prepare them for the worst.

And then I will get back on a hovercraft and fly to District 13 for the last time. Along with a the strongest of the Brain, we'll have to land, release the birds deep into the center room that holds the bomb, and let our presence be known to the group of spies waiting outside. I have to let _my_ presence be known. I am the only way Snow will really be lured down. My voice cooing and demanding the revolt of the people that have already revolted. More birds will cheer their mimicking cries, the sounds of a crowd agreeing. And Snow will, hopefully, follow them down.

I've studied the map a thousand times. We all have. I can close my eyes and picture every curve and turn and twist of the underground maze that are the District 13 caves, every dead end, every short cut. I imagine our route – staying close to the surface and leading ourselves back out on the opposite side against a hidden hillside. We don't have much time to do it and have to know the instant Snow enters the caves.

We'll run hard.

We'll run the entire distance.

We'll run until we're hidden carefully in the bomb shelter the Thirteeners dug into the hillside a couple miles away from the secret exit of the caves. Its thick walls will not guarantee us protection, but if we run hard enough we be there in less than 15 minutes and we'll just hope that buried thick beneath the dirt and soil of the earth, enclosed in the incredible metal, we will walk away alive and unharmed when the massive explosion is over.

All we can do is hope.

I let my head sink deep into the pillow and try to relax. I force my eyes closed and instantly imagine a green field, a path leading to an orange door and a tall white house with great big windows. There's a little child playing in the window, bouncing and laughing and smiling with Peeta's eyes. And I ache inside because I don't know yet that it can ever be true.

* * *

"I don't know, Katniss," Peeta says wearily in the frame of the bathroom door. "You've been sick for a while now."

I lift my head out of the toilet to reply, but have to return before I can open my mouth to say anything. This morning was worse than it's ever been. I woke up a few hours after falling asleep nearly throwing up in bed and was lucky to reach the garbage can just below the nightstand in time to contain the spill. After cleaning the bin, brushing my teeth and downing a glass of water, I thought I might be ready to sleep a little longer. But no sooner had I crawled back under the covers than my throat seized up and I dashed for the bathroom.

This is where Peeta found me, the sound of my dry heaves a terrible noise to wake up to. And this is where I still sit, my slight nightdress incapable of keeping me warm against the cold tiles.

I feel miserable.

I hope this is a sign of true sickness, not pregnancy – that I haven't been able to cure whatever I have and it's just getting more severe. Not that I want to be a useless, inept zombie that can't run fast enough out of the caves to save herself, but I'd rather have a baby on my own terms when it's not such a surprise. When it's not such a burden. I'd rather just be sick.

"Water," I manage to say and Peeta grabs the carafe from the bedside table. He brings me a glistening, full glass of liquid and I pour it down in a few quick swallows. The cup clanks loudly as I set it down next to me and I rest my head against the cold, porcelain seat. I know it's gross, but I'm so tired, and so sore and all I want to do is crawl into bed.

Peeta waits at least ten minutes before walking to my side, scooping me up in his arms and laying me back down in the bedroom. The mattress seems to sink around me and it feels divine. He lays a cold washcloth over my forehead and I don't move. His expression is serious and thoughtful and I can tell he's trying to make the right decision. Of course he wouldn't want me to head out today in this condition, but I know just as well as he does that if Snow doesn't see _me_ the whole mission could fail. And we desperately, desperately need this final leg to work according to plan.

_I_ desperately need this final leg to work out.

"Peeta! Katniss!" Finnick's voice booms through the room, his loud pounding a startling sound.

Peeta gets up from the side of the bed and opens the door. I sit up just enough to see the panic on Finnick's face. I remove the washcloth from my forehead and sit up more. He takes a second glance at me, noticing the green color of my skin and the sheen of sweat on my brow.

"What's wrong with you?" He says in unusual harshness.

Peeta scowls. "What's wrong with _you_?"

Finnick looks back at the tall blonde man in front of him and swallows. His eyes search Peeta's and I see my husband's body tense.

"Dennisille is dead," Finnick finally croons mournfully.

My heart drops like an entire building has just collapsed on it. Dennisille, I have learned, is one of the pilots on Snow's hovercraft. One of our spies. If he's been killed it can only mean one thing.

"What?" Peeta gasps. "How? When? What happened?"

Finnick begins to pant. "It just happened this morning. Plutarch was up early to catch their morning report and set up the final details for today, but Snow caught Marco and Dennisille in the act!"

"No," I groan loudly.

"He would have killed them both if he didn't need someone to fly the plane. He beat Marco pretty bad. That was the next report we got. It just came in. Peeta, he knows the whole plan. He knows about the bomb."

Peeta is silent for a second, his chin dropping towards his chest. Finnick sways on his feet, anxious, scared, determined.

"I'll be right there," Peeta finally whispers in reply.

Finnick glances towards me one more time and then bolts back out, leaving the doors open behind him. Peeta doesn't move at first, and then walks slowly to close them. He head remains slunk low, his breathing even and deep. I muster the strength to stand and walk up behind him.

"Peeta," I say quietly. I don't know what else to follow it up with.

He turns to me, his eyes red and for the first time I think Peeta might be on the verge of tears. He doesn't say anything to me. He doesn't approach me, he doesn't speak, he doesn't even attempt to comfort me. We stand there for a while, watching each other, his eyes growing redder the harder he fights to compose his emotions. And then he turns to the closet. He disappears only for a second and comes back out holding a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

"I need you to rest, Katniss," he says sternly as he pulls on the pants. "Not because I'm trying to keep you out of this, not because I'm trying to protect you. But we're going to need you more than ever now and if you run yourself ragged you're only going to get sicker. I'll be back soon. I promise."

And then he blows out the door.

I stand there, my hair sticking out in all directions, the thin fabric on my body hiding little, the color of my skin even greener now. My hands hang worthlessly to my side, my shoulders hunched forward. The wind from the door flying open and closed so fast still feels like it's blowing against my face.

I don't know what I want to do, but I feel my body staggering a little bit. Rather than fight it, I decide to obey Peeta and allow my feet to stumble back to the bed. I plop down heavily, sinking right where I left off. I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, but the warmth of the pillows and blankets falling around me lures me to sleep and I close my eyes.

* * *

"Katniss. Katniss!"

My eyes peel open and I immediately notice my breathing expelling in hard and fast pants. I can still hear the screaming infant. I can still see the small blanket it was wrapped in falling away to the damp cave floor. I can still see Snow disappearing with my child and I can still see Peeta's blood-soaked body at my feet. I throw my hand to my forehead and begin to cry.

"Katniss," Peeta coos. "It's okay. It's okay."

He crawls deeper into my side, lifting me up into his chest, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head. I'm not sobbing, but tears continue to fall. He pushes one away with his thumb and inches down so he can look me in the eyes.

"Katniss, you're all right. You're safe…everyone is safe."

He uses the word "everyone" a little cautiously and I realize what I must have been screaming. I shake my head a little, as if to shake the thoughts away, take in a deep breath and push a tear away with my own hand. I wait a second, willing myself to stop crying.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss," another small voice says, almost distraught.

I look over Peeta and see Prim standing in horror, tears of her own spilling down.

"She's had nightmares before but she wouldn't come out of this one," she says to Peeta, "it was awful."

"It's okay Prim," he says softly. "Thanks for staying with her anyway."

I expect him to ask her to leave, but he doesn't and I look at her again. That's when I notice a slight movement to her left and my eyes dart with it. My mother is standing there, holding a wet cloth and glass of water, looking just as horrified as my sister. Gale is next to her, his eyes bugging, then Haymitch looking helpless next and Finnick lastly, looking like he's totally confused and saddened by that fact.

I whimper once and Peeta rubs my back.

"I asked Prim and your mother to stay with you while I was gone, but when the rest of us were walking back here to see how you were doing all we heard was screaming," he explains of my audience.

I swipe my eyes again, this time using my whole hand and sit up against the head of the bed.

"It was just a nightmare," I attempt to consol the room, but their expressions don't change.

Finally Haymitch clears his throat and steps towards the foot of the bed.

"Peeta said you were sick this morning, are you feeling any better?"

I shrug. I haven't been awake long enough to know.

"Why don't all of you head back to the planning room," my mother cuts in, "get something to eat, relax. I'll get Katniss dressed and showered and send her your way."

They nod subtly and Peeta kisses my temple. He doesn't say anything as he exits the room and I can tell he's mulling over whatever it was I was shouting in my sleep. The images of the nightmare are quickly fading, but I can still fathom the pieces that might have come out.

The door closes behind him and I'm left alone with my mother and Prim. Suddenly I blush. Prim takes Peeta's place on the edge of the bed and pets my hair. Sometimes I forget that she's only 14 years old, and her touch is soothing and I don't push it away.

My mother sits down towards my feet and gazes at me. I can only look at her for half a second at a time. Prim doesn't move, but obviously notices the uncomfortable silence and leans in to whisper something into my hair.

"Help?" She asks.

I look at her, pause, and then nod gratefully. Even though it's no secret to my mother what a husband and wife would do behind closed doors, I am too embarrassed to discuss it out in the open with her. However, as my chest bubbles more with heaves that want to come up, I realize now is as good a time as any to just say it and enlist her help.

Prim straightens up and looks at my mother dead on. Her face is calm and serious. "We're going to need some Pale Branch. Do you think there's any around?"

Smart way of getting into it, I think. Pale Branch is a low bush plant that's commonly found anywhere there's natural water. The bark, ground down into a sort of powder, is good for the female body anytime, however, to the _pregnant_ female body it is like a heavenly serum, curing all kinds of morning sickness and aches. It doesn't work for any other kind of sickness, but for what might ail me it could be a miracle plant. For the women of the Seam that were ill like this, who could never afford doctors and were unsure if they were pregnant or not, my mother would always prescribe some Pale Branch powder. If they remained ill, she would find something else to help, but if they were cured…we knew what to expect in eight or nine more months.

My mother's eyes soften, rather than widen and she nods. She stands up and walks to the chair across the room where a small bag is sitting. She digs around and pulls out a small glass jar of a fine, tan mixture.

"I thought I might need this when Peeta asked us to come watch you," she says calmly.

"Mom, I –"

"Shhh, Katniss," she says evenly, "you don't have to explain."

Prim and I give each other a sideways, surprised look.

"I love him, you know that" I add quickly.

"I know you do. And he really loves you. I don't think that is really the trouble here."

I inhale and try to sit up a little straighter. She's right. That's not the real problem here. If I had thought I could be pregnant in any other life with Peeta's baby I wouldn't have hesitated to tell him and share the excitement or anticipation together. I know Peeta wants children, and I want to give them to him. We would be so happy together, wishing and dreaming as our child grew in my belly, as it was born, as it aged and became a new, interesting life in the world.

I feel prongs of pain and loss stab at my heart.

But we don't live in that kind of place. We live in war-torn Panem and the evil headhunter himself is after us. Under the burden of this I can't imagine the possibility of having a baby, of carrying a little person inside of me. I look down at my hands and whisper.

"I'm scared."

I feel Prim smooth my hair a little more seriously and my mother scoots closer. She reaches out and places a gentle palm on my blanketed leg.

"I would be, too. Especially after this morning…" her thoughts trail off and my stomach curls in. Not out of sickness, but out of fear. She shakes the thoughts away and looks back at me. "…but you're brave, Katniss. You always have been. Far braver than I could ever even pretend to be. If anyone will survive this, it will be you."

"And Peeta," I mumble. She chuckles.

"Well, yes. And Peeta."

She stands up, reaches for the glass of water she'd been holding earlier and taps the contents of the jar into it. The glass immediately turns murky and hardly appetizing. My shoulders lurch and my mom pulls the glass to her side instead of handing it over.

"I want to wait until I think you're going to keep it down," she says with a chuckle.

I nod and take a deep breath, trying to listen to the gurgles of my stomach for warning.

"I think I should be fine," I say, "but maybe I should take it in the bathroom…just in case."

I crawl out of bed and Prim stands out of the way. I reach for the glass as I pass my mother and head to my former plot of tile in the chilly bathroom floor. The powder is settling in the water and turning a slightly lighter shade. It doesn't smell…I take in a deep breath and swallow. One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps. I finish the glass and set my face close to the toilet, waiting for a reaction. Nothing.

I take in another breath and stand up. My mother refills the glass with fresh water and I finish it off as fast as the last one. I don't have to wait much longer to know my fate. The reaction of the Pale Branch powder in my body is almost instantaneous – I can feel my shoulders straighten, my lungs relax, my chest sink peacefully. My stomach stops rumbling, my legs stop aching, my head stops throbbing.

I stretch and suddenly feel the dirt of my sweat still lingering on my face. I move to the closet, taking my time as I pick out a pair of jeans and t-shirt just like Peeta had this morning. The strange feeling of health continues to seep through me and my skin cools and softens. When I walk back into the main room, clothes in hand, I see Prim and my mother at the end of the bed. Prim is beaming from ear to ear and my mother is uncertain.

"You look incredible," Prim says. "Radiant."

I raise my eyebrows and scoff. "Yeah, 'cause hours of vomiting really gets the glow going on one's skin."

"No, she's right," my mother says and hands me a thick, white robe to change into. "You look a world different than ten minutes ago. How do you feel?"

I want to lie. I want to tell them that I feel about the same. I want to tell them that I'll probably end up getting sick again as soon as I eat something, but I know it'll be a lie. I feel incredible. I feel radiant. I feel a world different.

"Pregnant," I finally say. "I feel a thousand times better, and we know what that means."

Prim claps her hands together with a short sound of glee and my mother sits back down on the bed, her face a confusing expression to try and read.

"I'm sorry," I try to say, but puts her hand up to stop me.

"Don't apologize, Katniss. I've already told you that. I'm just…I'm just sacred for you. You've got a treacherous road ahead and I don't want to lose you. Losing your father was difficult enough. If something happens to you…if something goes wrong…it's not just you I'll have to let go of anymore. It'll be my grandchild as well."

Her voice cracks and I hear an emotion in my mother I haven't heard before. Although she talks about loss, I understand a happiness that has to first exist for that loss to conjure pain. She's not angry or upset or disappointed or bothered by this state I'm in, as I thought she would be. Instead, she's pleased, delighted…happy. And all that just means one more disturbingly painful break in her already fragile body if it's torn away.


	13. Growing, Living, Real

**DISCLAIMER: Hunger Games is not my original idea. Cause if it was I might be a very rich woman.**

* * *

"If you need anything just call for me. I won't be far."

Prim gives me one more quick hug and follows my mother out the door. She's beside herself with happiness at the idea of being an aunt, and my mother, after forty minutes of solid consoling and comforting, has gratefully allowed herself to believe that we'll both see the day this child is born. She can contain her joy a bit more than Prim, but as soon as I close the bedroom door behind them I silently hope they don't cross paths with the boys.

My mother? _Smiling_? Surely that will be all the suspicion they need to seek answers and I don't think I could lie to any of them right now.

I drop my nightgown to the floor in one svelte movement. Peeta loves this dress for that reason – quick on, quick off. I grab the robe off the bed and walk towards the bathroom with a strange sort of bounce in my step. Maybe I had begun to believe the things I'd told my mother. Maybe the hope I had tried to instill in her accidentally rubbed off on me. Maybe I _like _the idea of being a parent, of having this baby that's now certainly living in my body. I've never even remotely considered the possibility before a month ago. The more rational side of me wants to shoot the notion down, to not get excited or attached to the idea of this little person growing every day inside of me, because I know that I could die, or it could die, or we could both die, in a very short amount of time. I don't want to care or feel love for this baby. I don't want to think of it as part of me.

But maybe it's too late for that.

My steps continue, that bounce still present despite my best efforts and I think of my beautiful, kind, generous, beloved husband. I don't have to think hard about him to feel every part of me fill with something incandescent and golden. I wonder how I should deliver the news, or if I even should. I could wait, when there is enough cheer in the room from our victory over the war that this seems mild in comparison. Then Peeta could feel allowed to be as full of bliss about this as he wants to be.

Would he be full of bliss?

Surely I know Peeta well enough by now to that it would be. It wouldn't matter what surrounds us - he doesn't fear the way I do, well, except when it comes to me. Throughout the last month or so I've watched all of the inner intensity I knew was within Peeta take full bore of his body. He's become a fearless, strong, capable leader. His words calm when peace is needed and stir when action is the next step. Part of me often wonders if the survivors that follow me don't do so more because of the man of my heart than my own rebellious streak, because he has always been more cordial, more friendly, and more open with them. I run when I don't mean to, and Peeta reminds me to stand.

I turn on the water to the tub and pull the switch to turn on the shower head. It pours down from the ceiling in a warm spray and immediately begins to fill the room with hot mist. I drop the robe at the foot of the tub and step in, pulling the long circular curtain closed behind me. The water feels good against my body and I take my time standing under the soft flow. My hair sticks to my shoulders like heavy silk, my lips plump with the hydration and my legs straighten and smooth out like soft flower stems. My hands move to stomach and I stare at the skin around my belly button. I wish Peeta's hands were on this spot, thinking about this baby with me, telling me we're going to be okay, that we're going to survive.

I have this unnatural urge to smile when I think about telling him, to hug him when I deliver the news, because I know he will do those things back. My mind overflows with images of him laughing and smiling and playing with our little infant. I see him holding it closely against his chest, humming a poorly sung tune with all his heart. I see him teaching a toddler to paint while it sits on his knee. I see him baking fresh bread with a young child and teaching the new little chef tricks of the family trade. I see his eyes glowing with happiness, with gratefulness, with peace. And all I want, beyond all of my fears or doubts or uncertainties, is to see Peeta that way every day for the rest of my life.

I stay in the shower until my hands and toes are all little prunes and regretfully turn the water off. I step out of the shower naked and realize just how truly good I feel. Better than I've ever felt, maybe. The Pale Branch powder does more than cure morning sickness to a pregnant body, it completely revitalizes it. I decide to leave the robe lying on the floor and swing the bathroom door wide open, practically dancing into the bedroom. The mist disappears on contact with the bedroom air and I blaze to the bed where my clothes are set in a lazy pile.

I realize I'm humming when my gasp stops me. I catch Gale's unmoving body in my peripheral vision and leap against the bed, trying to throw my hands over my indecent and unclothed form.

"Crick!" I exclaim, reaching behind me for the closest thing I can find to cover my body. "What are you doing in here?!"

Gale's expression is caught on something besides me, however, and I move with his eyeline to the small jar he's holding in his hands. There is still a bit of powder left and my heart drops low again. Gale had lots of siblings and never any money – his mother was a constant Pale Branch patron, and often at his assistance. We'd collected and ground the plant more than once together and I know exactly what he's sorting out. He finally looks up at me and takes in the rosy color of my cheeks, the twinkle in my eye, the strength in my body. He knows.

The closest thing to me is a pillow and I'm lucky it's long enough to cover both parts of me at the same time, though it's a bit narrow to hide the bare skin of my hips and I'm regretting the decision to ditch my robe in the bathroom.

"You know," Gale says quietly, unfazed by my exposed state, "I always thought someday I would be the one giving you this powder."

I feel helpless. "Gale, can we talk about this in a few minutes?"

He eyes the length of my body, then sets the jar back down on the chair he must have found it on. His fingers wrap around a small notepad next to the jar, one I recognize that he always takes around with him.

"I forgot this…" he says, stuffing it into his back pocket.

"Mm-hm," I reply, clutching the pillow closer to my body.

He looks at his feet, but doesn't make any motion to leave. My cheeks are beginning to burn red and I silently chant to the Gods to keep Peeta away. Who knows what he might think if he barged in now.

"You can't tell him, Katniss," Gale pleads, and I'm torn by the devastated sound of his voice. "You can't. Not now. Not yet."

My shoulders adjust a little. I don't have to ask who.

"It's not up to you," I managed to reply.

His grey eyes jerk to meet mine and they fill with fierce, serious demand.

"You're right, it's not up to me. But if it was my baby you were carrying, there would be no way in hell I'd let you go into District 13 tonight."

I sit back a little against the side of the bed, my jaw squeezing tightly, my fingers confused around the red pillow. No more dancing. No more humming. No more happy images of a little house with big windows or a healthy, beaming baby in my arms.

I barely hear the door shut behind Gale and everything in my mind goes blurry. I've not forgotten about the plan ahead of me, but I have to admit my head has not been toiling over details or burning with questions today. It should be. Regardless of this development, I have to remember what is ahead of me, something Gale is trying to point out in not such eloquent words. Snow knows about our final plan, but that doesn't mean we stop. The instant Finnick told us the news about Dennisille I knew, we all knew, this was only going to get harder. Our attention to detail and finite focus is only going to be more important.

I take in a few breaths and mull over Gale's expression, his words. Maybe telling Peeta isn't the best idea right now. Even though I know I want to share this with him, it could cloud his thoughts. It could make him stutter in conviction. It could make him want to leave me behind.

A small chime from the clock on the wall catches my attention and I realize it's the middle of the day. If we were moving ahead as planned we would have already addressed the survivors and getting ready to load into the hovercraft. I suppose I don't know why we would move ahead as planned. With Snow waiting for us, expecting the jabberjays, expecting the bomb, how would he ever follow us into the caves? We can't do the same thing he thinks we're doing.

Could we?

Suddenly I remember Gale's face. Tonight. He'd said 'tonight' in his demand. We're going in tonight?

My heart picks up speed. How did I not catch that the second he spoke it? They must already know what they're going to do, must have already known over an hour ago when they all woke me up. I don't have much time to think about anything else. Gale is right. I'll wait to tell Peeta about the baby until all of this is done.

Everything stops. I can't believe I just made that decision.

I set the pillow I've been clutching aside and look back down to my bare stomach. I wrap my hands tenderly around the place I know will soon begin to bulge and allow myself for just one second to feel a sense of hope. For one quick second I recall the house, the child, the husband, the peace. I think about my mother, my sister, my friends, my life without the Hunger Games or a government controlling us into poverty.

In that second, that immediate burst of time, I know it can all be.

I breathe in and promise myself that Peeta will get to be a father. He'll get to be a father to _this_ child. I will find a way. But today, for however long we have left in this Panem, in this world ripped by war, he will not get to know. This war has to end first and now I have fight in me with one more reason than I had before.

I dress quickly and step out of the room into the hallway. I don't see anyone in either direction and walk towards the TV room. There are no voices, no bodies.

"Hello?" I call out, hoping they are locked away in a room somewhere. A door creaks open behind me and I turn swiftly.

"Katniss!" Prim says enthusiastically. "I was just about to come and get you. We're going down to eat, everyone is already there waiting for you."

She closes the door behind her and practically skips towards the elevator. She's always been bubbly, but I know the root of this extra elation in her heels and I realize I have to ask her one more favor.

"Prim," I say, grabbing her shoulder to stop her from getting in when the doors open, "I'm not going to tell Peeta."

"Ever?" There's a hint of irony on her tongue and I wonder if she's been spending much time with Finnick.

"Of course I'll tell him eventually, Prim. I just…I think it's important we both focus on this last task. If the war doesn't end there'll be no point in having this baby."

She looks down at her feet and the elevator beeps loudly. I step forward and she follows me into the small box. The doors shut smoothly and Prim presses the button for the dining room.

There is quiet breathing as the elevator falls and I can see Prim thinking about this.

"Maybe you could be a little less exuberant around me?" I say softly, hopefully. "You know, just, a little less smiling every time you look at me. Help me out one more time?"

I give her a gentle pat on the shoulder and the elevator beeps again as it passes the floor just above our stop.

Prim looks up at me and with a very calm expression asks, "What if something happens to him tonight or tomorrow or anytime before he knows? He'll never have that moment of happiness where he learns that he's going to be a father."

The doors open and my chest slams down against itself. I suppose I hadn't thought about that…gah! Why do I have be so confused all the time? I was always certain before Peeta. I always knew my decisions were final once I had made them, but now I weigh every inch of my life against how it will affect his. I don't regret that, and I don't live this new life bitterly. I wouldn't trade my world with Peeta for any paradise on earth, for any other freedoms that might at first glance seem enticing. I just wish I had some of that singular strength I remember from my independence.

"Are you coming?" Prim asks, holding her hand in the door as it beeps angrily back.

I blink a few times and will my feet to move. I should be putting on my game face as I enter the dining hall, concealing all emotions from the many people eating right now, but I was taken by surprise by Prim and can't seem to ready myself again. I only have a few seconds to fix this and decide the easiest thing is to obsess over the mission. If I don't give room to think about anything else I won't have to dodge questions that will give revealing answers.

Prim takes my hand and leads me towards the far end of the room where a large, round table is packed with friends and family: Haymitch, Gale, Finnick, Annie, Paul, Johanna, Keplina, Jacob, my mother, Plutarch, Madge, Clem and of course, Peeta. There are two open seats squished in between bodies and I take the one next to Peeta while Prim scoots around towards my mother. There are two plates already waiting, still steaming and absolutely deliciously scented. My stomach growls loudly and Peeta laughs as he lays his arm around the back of my chair.

"You look spectacular," he comments, "your mother must be a magician with herbs to have you looking this great in such a short amount of time."

_Don't panic. Don't blush. Ignore the comment, Katniss._

"Mm-hm," I mumble, avoiding eye contact.

"You feel as good?" He asks.

"Mm-hm," I mumble again, nodding my head as I dig into the dark greens on my plate and stuff them in my mouth.

I hear a loud clanking and raise my eyes to see Gale stabbing his mashed potatoes, the fork violently beating against the plate.

"Hey, it was at my suggestion she got the right medicine for the cure," Prim adds smugly. I dart a concerned glare in her direction. I don't think I've ever glared at Prim in my life.

"Oh, yeah?" Peeta says with another chuckle. "Then I offer my thanks to you, little sister."

I can tell Prim desperately wants to correct him, to shout out that she's not just his inherited sibling anymore, that she's going to be an aunt, but she doesn't. She bites her bottom lip and nods gratefully. I sigh.

It doesn't take long to recognize the good mood that hovers at this table and I wonder how it's possible anyone is cheerful after what happened this morning. Snow is on to us in the worst possible way and another one of our spies is dead. Shouldn't this be a time of solemnity or regrouping? Haymitch lets out a loud, long guffaw at one of Finnick's sarcastic jokes and I can't help but watch his expression uncertainly.

The only one at this table I can trust for a sad undertone is Gale, but I have a pretty solid feeling he's upset for reasons other than Dennisille's death so I try to avoid watching him as much as possible.

"…and then Maritha told me it was blue!" Finnick exclaims and the whole table erupts with laughter. Even Peeta throws his head back with the motion.

My eyes stay on him for a moment too long, admiring the curve of his jaw, the tone of his skin, the brightness of his eyes. His hair sways with every move of his body, each tiny layer moving in different directions. His smile stretches wide, rather than just straight up and his pink lips stretch with it, forming a perfect mouth. A flash of the baby's face, with the same pink mouth and wide smile, hits my brain with unexpected force and I drop my fork. Peeta glances down at me as I scramble to pick the cutlery back up.

"Did they exchange health for clumsiness?" he teases.

I let out an unbelievable laugh and Haymitch raises an eyebrow at the strange noise. I look away quickly when I catch his gaze and dive back towards the food on my plate.

"Bet it's nice to have food stay inside of you once you've put it there, eh, Katniss?" Paul asks innocently.

I haven't realized it, but half my plate is already gone. I must have been shoveling food down at an alarming rate. Suddenly my cheeks flush red and I regret coming down to lunch. Maybe if Prim hadn't made that comment on the elevator my head would have stayed straight on, but everything anyone says seems to be aimed at a condition they don't even know exists. It's all I can think about. It's all I can consider.

My heart picks up and I try to remember what else there is to talk about.

"Gale tells me we're still heading out today," I finally say, hoping the slight shake in my voice is unnoticeable over the pile of food in my mouth.

"Yeah, we are…" Haymitch begins, but gives me a strange look that tells me to stop talking. He looks around the room as if spying for anyone that might have overheard, then leans in close, his finger curling backwards to get me to lean in as well.

"They don't know what happened," he says so quietly I can hardly understand. "We still talked to everyone this morning, just told them that you needed your rest. They never knew the specific time we were planning on heading out anyway."

He starts to lean away, but I stop him. "Is there anything I need to know before I get on that ship?"

He shakes his head. "Is there anything _I _need to know?"

I forget to chew and I'm sure my eyes give me away. Still, I shake my head and pull back quickly. I look towards Gale, but he's busy mangling a pear. Did he say something? Why would he? And why would he tell Haymitch of all people? How would he react? What would he do? Haymitch wouldn't try to get me to stay behind. Not now. Not ever.

I can feel Haymitch staring at me and it reminds of my first meal here a few days ago. Somewhere along this journey he became a very perceptive man and it's making my life a little harder than I want it to be.

The table erupts in laughter again and it's obvious Finnick has told another joke. Peeta rubs my back gently and looks my direction.

"You're seriously glowing," he says quietly to me. "What did they do to you?"

I swallow the small vegetable stabbed on the end of my fork and risk it. I turn and look at him, wishing I was wittier than I am, but realize the second our eyes meet I can't do it. I need Peeta to know.


	14. Us

**DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.**

* * *

"We should go back to the room," I whisper.

Peeta's eyes narrow and he looks back thoroughly.

"Okay…" he says, the word snaking out strangely.

I set my fork down across the top of my plate and toss my napkin to its side. My chest is full of fighting. I have to tell him, I can't leave him out of this. Even though I'm sure Gale isn't the only one who would suggest he stay in the dark at this time, something deep within me knows that Peeta would go to the same lengths to protect me, be full of the same distractions whether he knew I was carrying his child or not. I can't stop myself from delivering this news even if I tried.

Peeta starts to scoot his chair back when Haymitch catches him.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks with a gentle laugh in his tone.

"Oh, um…" Peeta looks at me for help.

"We're going to get changed," I jump in, "but we'll see you on the hovercraft in a few hours."

There are a few muffled laughs from around the table and I blush, knowing everyone is aware it's a lie, and knowing exactly what they think we're running off to do. I blush deeper. Maybe we will do that…

Finnick, never being one to be left out of a perfect joke opportunity, stuffs his mouth with the carrots at the end of his fork and smirks.

"Careful now," he teases, directing his comment towards Haymitch but pointing in our direction, "you let those two alone too long and we won't have to lie to Snow about that baby anymore!"

I suppose I didn't factor inadvertent bomb-dropping by third parties when I considered all the ways I could tell Peeta about this.

Four loud chokes huff from the edges of the table and can't be covered by Finnick's own laughter. My mother and Prim grab for their napkins and try to swallow the food now caught in their throats, while Gale reaches for his glass and chugs the remaining water. I freeze in my pushed out seat. Peeta doesn't laugh long when he notices I'm quiet, and suddenly I'm afraid to survey the table.

Finnick guffaws once more as the laughter dies rapidly around us and looks towards me with widening eyes. Somehow I think it's starting to sink it he might not have been as far off with the joke as he intended to be.

I suck in air and decide brave a look around. Haymitch is staring at me incredulously, however something says he expected this. Johanna looks appalled. Paul seems to be a bit more aware than Jacob, but both are still stuffing their faces with gentle clangs of their silverware against the china. My mother looks calm, and Prim drops her face immediately to hide the smile that's filling out her cheeks. Gale glances furiously in my direction. The mood at the table has taken an obvious turn and my heart starts pounding so loudly I imagine it's going to dance right out of my body any moment.

The longer anyone takes to respond, the thicker the air gets. I don't really know what to do and wipe my mouth with the small white cloth I'd tossed on the table before taking a sip of water. Finnick's eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets now as they shoot between Peeta and me. Clem has a similar expression and Madge looks embarrassed. Haymitch looks more contemplative than I've ever seen him and Gale is still fuming.

Everyone is waiting for someone else to talk. No one offers.

I feel a pair of eyes boring into my skin and look to my right. Peeta is not moving. His blue eyes are intense and full of questions. Or one question, really, and I'm not sure I want to answer it right here, right now.

"Oh you might as well," Prim finally interjects, reading my unspoken doubts in my face. Everyone turns to look at her and I feel something go weak in my shoulders.

"Yeah…you might as well," Johanna adds, turning her gaze back to me. Her eyes are wild with anticipation.

I look back at Peeta and can't hide the expression from my face. I'm not quite sure if it's hope or joy or embarrassment or concern, but regardless of any of it something huge inside of me can't wait to speak the truth.

_Yes. I'm having your baby._

He sees it. My eyes have been successful.

"No," he says quietly, and suddenly the entire table bursts out in murmurs. I try to ignore them and focus only on Peeta.

"Yes," I reply just as quietly, and there are even more exclamations around us.

Peeta drops his hand onto the table and it lands with a loud thud. He turns his whole body to me in the chair and I can feel my heart thumping so loudly there might as well be a herd of horses running through the halls. He runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, his breathing deep and even. I can practically hear him contemplating every element, every detail of this fact and my resolve begins to wane. The murmuring around the table has ceased and even the gentle hum of everyone else in the hall eating and conversing has slowed and shushed.

"Really?" He finally questions and I nod timidly in reply. Peeta darts his eyes to Haymitch, who responds by throwing his hands in the air as if giving up and giving his blessing at the same time.

And then three things happen at once: Finnick throws his arms up and cheers, Gale gasps angrily and slumps back in his chair, and Peeta grabs hold of my face, smashing his lips into mine. The whole table is in uproar, causing the rest of the room to buzz and soon, the whole dining hall is loudly confounded.

I kiss Peeta back wearily and pull away to survey his face. No one is paying attention to us anymore because they're too busy scrambling amongst themselves. Madge is excitedly grasping my mother while Gale reams Haymitch for being okay with this. Finnick is trying to hug everyone, but Prim hasn't let go of him yet. Johanna has already stormed off and Jacob still doesn't seem to understand what is going on. Plutarch looks full and happy and the rest of the table is beaming and cheering and slapping and hugging.

"We're having a baby?" Peeta leans in to confirm again and his eyes sparkle.

"We're having a baby." I reply.

My whole body fills with something indescribable and Peeta's lights up like a massive candle has been set inside. It's worth it. Prim was right. This moment, seeing his expression, feeling his uncontainable joy, watching his fingers stretch with boggling excitement, is something I would never have wanted to miss. If anything does happen to either one of us, this is exactly the way I want to remember who we were.

"We're having a baby!" Peeta announces to the table, though the declaration isn't necessary. Everyone cheers in response anyway and I see the surrounding tables looking curiously in our direction. Surely some have an idea, or heard what Peeta has just said so loudly.

"I can't believe this," he says, looking to me with the kind of wide smile I picture on our baby, "I really can't believe this."

"I'm going to be an aunt!" Prim suddenly exclaims from her side of the table and I laugh for the first time today.

"And you're going to be a grandma!" Finnick says with a slap on my mother's back. Her smile is bashful, but full.

"And I'm going to be an uncle," Haymitch says quietly. The table hushes and we all turn and watch as his somewhat blank expression festers. There is something underneath that is moving and tilting and whirling and as I stare I see it take form. His eyes begin to fuzz a little and when he looks up at me, I can see a just how dewy they are.

I reach my hand over and set it on his shoulder tenderly. My eyes agree with him and he lets out a quick sniffle.

Once again the mood at the table has shifted, but this is a very happy, very gentle emotion surrounding us now. Almost like we've all just eaten a massive feast and are sitting back in our chairs near to sleep. It's that kind of lull, that kind of peace. I pull my hand away from Haymitch and without thinking lay it on my stomach. Peeta follows me as I make the action and I hear him inhale.

Suddenly he grabs my other hand and pulls me out of my chair. Before I know what's happening we're both standing and he is climbing on to the table.

"Peeta," I try, but it's no use. He tugs at my arm and I step on to the table next to him.

He clears his throat, but we don't have to call the room to attention. They've already been watching.

He pauses, allowing an enormous smile to spread across his face, and then shouts stridently, "We're having a baby!"

If I had thought our table had erupted when he announced it to them five minutes ago, I don't know if I could have described this noise. It's nearly deafening. The entire room explodes in cheers and claps and shouts. Peeta pulls me hard into his side and kisses the top of my head. I realize I'm smiling with him.

We hop off the platform to be met by hoards of people. They surround us to give their congratulations, both as condolences for the imaginary child we lost and this new one they hope we're able to keep. We accept slaps on the back and belly rubs, giggles from the little girls and blushes from the older ones. I even notice a few jealous shots from some of Peeta's fan club, but ignore them. We're pulled from our perch near the table and towards the center of the room, and by the time things clear out I notice our own table is practically empty. There are three people left: Prim, Haymitch, and my mother.

Prim makes her way to Peeta and leaps around him for a giant hug.

"I'm so happy," she says as she steps back. "Now take care of business and get back to us so we can start planning a baby shower!"

It's strange how little things, simple things, can make someone's life happier. For Prim, for a lot of the surviving women, those every day specialties like baby showers and weddings make this rebellion more human, more real, more livable. I've never been one for productions or celebrations or parties, but after only a month in the caves the idea of some kind of special cake when it can be had, or just the gathering together to celebrate something new, carries a magic that unburdens, even if it's just for a short amount of time.

This thought makes me see my little sister differently. Even though I've always wanted to protect her and have always cherished her, for the first time I see her as an individual that looks forward to my achievements as much as the next rebel. Little Prim is part of the mass that has chosen to follow us into this war, and who refuse to give up their hearts in doing so. That is true rebellion, after all. Declaring that we will not bend and break and mold to someone else. That we will not be controlled or punished for existing. A baby shower in the caves of our rebel headquarters spits in the face of Snow and his men and reminds all of us that we will not be moved. That we are real. That we will continue on.

Hopefully, though, after this mission we'll never have an underground baby shower again. I wish for every woman that may be pregnant now, and for every child that will grow and every baby that will be born, to have a free life. A life full of nothing but joy and renewal and commitment to loving and being loved.

This is what I wish for my own children. For me. For Peeta.

One more hug and Prim and my mother exit the dining hall and I turn to face Haymitch.

"I knew something was up," he says. "There was a lot of funny stuff going on at that table tonight. You. Your mother. Gale."

"Gale knew?" Peeta asks, surprised by his name on Haymitch's list.

"Well…yeah. But by accident, and I don't think I have to tell you that he wasn't very happy about it."

Haymitch lets out a single sound in agreement and I realize how much it pains me to admit this. I don't think Gale wants bad things for Peeta and me, nor do I think he ever wants me to be unhappy, but he can't help loving me and as much as he tries to sacrifice that so that I can be with Peeta and still have him as a friend, his feelings often get the better of him. Especially when he thinks something is going to harm me.

"He doesn't think I should let you go," Haymitch says, looking at me dead on.

He says it as a statement, but also as a challenge. What do _I_ think is the right choice? How do I feel? How do I think Peeta feels? I take in a deep breath because I know how Peeta feels and it's been in front of me since the second I thought I might be pregnant. I know where Gale stands, I know where I stand. Haymitch is asking me the right question, forcing me to be firm in my decision, whatever it is.

Peeta takes the reply to Haymitch, however, and even more than I thought two seconds ago I know Peeta understands me more than Gale ever could.

"He doesn't know Katniss very well, then."

My heart aches with pleasure at this response and I want to tackle Peeta right then and there. I manage to refrain and simply take his hand and squeeze it tight. He squeezes back and I don't know how I can possibly think about anything else but how much I love this man.

Haymitch seems satisfied and slaps Peeta on the arm. "All right. I'll see you on the ship."

He walks away from us without another word and suddenly I realize that Peeta and I are left alone. The large space with tall ceilings is devoid of any other human, a luxury more and more rare to us these days. Peeta turns to face me and my body moves with him. He's not smiling anymore, but his eyes are full of something affirmative, something positive.

He can say so much to me through those eyes without ever having to say a single word.

"I will get you home," he says as he moves his free hand to my cheek.

"Us," I correct, pointing at his chest. "You'll get _us_ home."

He releases my hand and moves both of his down to my stomach. "Us," he whispers, never moving his gaze from mine.

I don't know how to put this moment into words. My whole life is contained in that one spoken word. My immediate future, my past, my present, every mistake, every fear, every action, every triumph…everything I am, everything I have been, everything I will become is all centered around this one tiny minute, this place with Peeta.

We don't waste our time getting from the dining room back to our bedroom. The second the door closes our clothes are dropping across the floor as fast as we can get them off. My ankle gets caught at the foot of my jeans and Peeta steps down on the fabric as he picks me up and throws me back on the bed. I crawl backwards on my elbows, my smile enticing him as he follows over me. He catches my mouth and both of my hands reach up to take the sides of his face. It never matters how fast or chaotic the world is spinning around me – when Peeta is with me this way I am a hopeless heap of mindless matter. All I want is more of him. All I want is all of him.

An hour later, our naked bodies cuddled closely under the covers of the large bed, we are discussing names and making bets on the sex, a gamble Peeta will surely lose. Doesn't he know that I'm the one carrying the little creature? Naturally I'd have a better inclination than he would. He'll learn someday.

It's not until I suggest a shower that Peeta moves. He pulls himself over me and kisses me softly. It's a kiss I remember, one that promises me his absolute. His mouth moves slowly to my chin, my neck, my collarbone. He doesn't stop at my chest, or at either breast, but continues directly down the center until he's at my belly button. He leaves his lips there a little longer and then caresses the tops of my hips.

"Hello, baby," he says to my stomach, "this is your father speaking."

I chuckle and he kisses my flesh again.

"If anything happens to me I want you to know something very important. I have loved your mother with everything in me there is to give. She is the best part about me and my favorite thing about life, and I know that she'll take care of you and love you and keep you safe. If she can make you a fraction as happy as I am when I'm with her, I know you'll be the most spoiled child in the world. I'll love you, too, wherever I am."

My smiles turns down and I reach down a hand to Peeta's face.

"You'll be right here with us, Peeta," I promise. "For her first birthday, for her first word. This baby is a promise to you and me that we're going to make it. We're going to see a hundred thousand more days together."

Peeta lays one last kiss on my stomach and crawls back to his pillow. I don't know how much time we have left to lay here together, but I want to soak it in for all that it is, covering my mind with every touch and scent and color and sound.

Despite his words, I know that Peeta is confident enough to take on Snow; so is the rest of the team heading in. I might not know the details this second, but I have a feeling deep in my gut that whatever lies ahead of me I, too, will succeed. Snow is breathing his last breaths right now. His reign is nearly over.

I curl into the crook of Peeta's neck as he wraps his arms tightly around me. Before long we'll be bidding farewell to the Panem we grew up in, to the government that tried to destroy us.

Soon, we'll say hello to a new world.

* * *

_**To all of my faithful reviewers, I hope you are pleased with this chapter! So many of you have been really excited for this and I wanted to do you the justice you deserve. :) Thanks for reading – this story is nearing the end. Only a couple-ish chapters left!**_


	15. I Am the Mockingjay

**DISCLAIMER: Who's not the author of Hunger Games. You. And probably me.**

* * *

The hovercraft is bright in comparison to the night sky and I have to squint as my eyes adjust. Peeta holds my hand affectionately, but we both know our time of uninterrupted bliss is gone. I think as soon as we pulled ourselves out of bed that disposition was blown. It's time to change our focus and return to the fighting soldiers we are. From this moment on, I hold the highest hopes, but ground my head in the reality of now

I don't know what lies ahead.

Finnick isn't far behind us and closes the line of brave souls heading back into District 13. Gale, Johanna, Paul and Keplina have led the way, even though Haymitch and Plutarch were already waiting for us. My former mentor is not going into the caves – he'll be the first to admit his body wouldn't keep up at the required pace to survive what I think we're going to attempt tonight – though I know he would do anything he could to ensure our survival and Snow's demise.

Paul and Jacob head towards the seating room and Johanna heads for a drink. Haymitch watches her longingly, but reaches for me instead.

"We need to get you up to date," he says, pulling my shoulder and forcing me to drop Peeta's hand.

Peeta tries to follow, but Haymitch stops him.

"Why don't you help Keplina in the kitchen – make sure every canteen is full and each pack has what it needs."

I eye Peeta helplessly, but he doesn't argue. He gives me a funny look and watches us disappear down the hall and through a heavy sliding door.

As soon as the door closes behind us Haymitch presses a quick code into the pad next to it and a red light brightens the surrounding area. We're locked in, the rest of the craft locked out. I wonder what he has to tell me that he apparently doesn't want anyone else to know. It isn't time to ask.

I take a look around the space I've just entered. It reminds me of the control room in District 13, with tables piled full of maps and strange documents and a large wall of screens. Haymitch heads to the center table and tosses several stacks of papers to the nearest counter, clearing up the giant, ornate map beneath it. I move to his side and immediately recognize the maze of the caves. It looks a little different than the maps we've been studying before – there are new pathways.

Haymitch breathes close to me.

"There is only one other person besides you and I that have seen this," he says carefully, "and he's not going to be underground with you. You will be the only one with this map in your mind, and it's very important you remember it perfectly."

I look up at him and he gazes back. For the first time since the Games I feel a sense of authority in myself, as if I understand Haymitch and can hear his plans. As if I matter in this war. As if it's bigger than my aching heart. I consider the depth of that leadership, of the leadership he's bestowing on me once again, and reply simply.

"Okay."

I turn back to the map and study it for a minute in silence. Finally my finger lands on a small crossway towards the back entrance we're supposed to head out of. There is a second path, winding lower than the first and veering towards the side. I see Haymitch nod out of the corner of my eye and then move my finger to the end of the new path, following along the narrow, winding bends of it until it disappears out the edge of the underground maze.

"There are four paths leading out of the caves," Haymitch explains, "and only three that anyone knows about. This is the fourth one, and this is the only map that shows it. The distance is longer than the route you memorized, but not by much. Plutarch and I had originally discussed using this direction to get out in the first place – less chance of being caught – but ultimately decided it was better to be fast than sneaky…well…at least until this morning."

There's a weird mix of relief as I listen to Haymitch. I don't know what I expected from him, but his lack of urgency to pull me away, to let me sleep all morning, everyone's good nature during lunch, subconsciously convinced me that there weren't too many changes in the mission tonight. Nothing complicated enough, at least, that I couldn't sort it out in a minute or two on our ride to Thirteen. Now that he seems to only adjust for this one small change, this new route, I breathe peacefully that it all sounds simple enough and will myself to believe this security.

"The plan is the same then," I ask hopefully, even though I don't know I believe it when I say it, "we head a different, more inconspicuous route out of the caves while Snow, somehow, still wanders into the nuclear trap?"

Haymitch sighs, then flashes me a very telling expression. His answer is no.

My heart drops. The relief I'd just pulled into myself wipes clean, leaving a building, tingling sensation of fear and anxiousness. I want to suppress it. I want to be strong, but I don't know if I'm able to. I don't know if I can muster the exact courage to do something different – something brave. And something tells me that whatever it is he's about to ask of me, is something I'll have to do _alone_.

"Katniss," he begins and my suspicions take hold, "I know you've always understood the importance of this war. You have a commitment inside of you that has always taken over rational thought in the best kind of way, and you refuse to see Snow win, especially after all of that he's done. I know that, even when your mind is obsessed with that man out there, you'll do what it takes in the end to annihilate that monster and all of his mess…"

He pauses, wanting to add something but unable, or unwilling, to speak it aloud.

"But…?" I try, straightening up a little as I brace for what I know is coming.

His eyes almost plead. "But…I just want to make sure you're still as convinced and ready now that…well, with…with…"

"The baby?"

Haymitch cringes at the word.

"Yes. Being pregnant is a little different story than being in love with someone, someone not connected, not…inside of you."

I don't know how to respond. He's right – it is different. This child has to have the life I have right now, a life which is aiming straight for death at the moment.

"Katniss," Haymitch continues, "I _want_ to tell you that we'll be fine if you can't do this. I _want_ to tell you that we don't need you, that you're just part of the team and someone else can do what I'm proposing…but I can't. We've always needed you – everything leading to this moment and now needing you more than ever. It's really you that has to do this." He says this painfully, as if confessing a dark lie that has been eating away at his soul for decades. "It's just…I never thought you would be in this position when the time came. It's not just your life anymore and you could die tonight before that child ever has a chance to live and love. I don't want to send you out there unless you're totally confident. Unless you're sure you want to do this."

I wait for some kind of blow, for any emotion to swat my across the face and chest with these words…but nothing comes. I think about it. I think about how, 45 seconds ago I'd had a serious twinge of fear at the idea of being alone, of knowing that Haymitch was going to ask me to do something bold and dangerous. Now that the suspicion is nearly confirmed, and though I still don't know what his exact proposal is, there is no fear. I feel blank, an emotion I've felt before. I can't say I'm sad or angry or scared or ready. I'm just here. Open. Available. And I'll do whatever opens up for me to do, each second its own decision before the next becomes another.

I take in a breath and reach for his arm. My mind is determined before my body is ready to accept it and I speak the thought before it can change.

"This child will never have a chance to live and love if I _don't_ do this. There is no future while Snow still lives and that is what really matters right now. Whatever you need me to do tonight, Haymitch, I'll do."

I can't be sure, but I think I mean this. I want to mean this. I should mean this. He deserves that much.

Haymitch stares and I stare back, my eyes trying to assure him. I know that Haymitch is torn – that part of him wants to think about fighting, about the mission, about the battle, but the other part of him wants to be considerate of me, of my unborn. There is guilt building in that tear and there is no time for such an emotion.

We stare a little longer, seconds passing like hours, and I desperately try to scream promise through my face. Finally, Haymitch chooses to side with what I've said rather than what he is suspicious I could really mean. He lets out a sigh and turns back towards the map.

Yes. I've convinced him.

I turn towards the map with him and watch as his finger lands once again onto the large drawn picture. It meets the center of the map and I see another pathway that I've never noticed before. It seems to spiral around the larger cave, weaving in and out of the only other two pathways that connect with the space. It never seems to open into the larger cave and almost appears completely isolated. There is a faint line, however, that forks out and leads straight towards the first new path I'd noticed. It's a bridge, nearly, between the two maze ends.

"The nuclear center, of course, is here," Haymitch says, his finger tapping the place it has already landed, "and this is what we call the hiveline." He moves his finger in a circle around the strange, unconnecting path. "It winds its way from the top of the caves to just below the center of this. As you can tell, there is only one way in and one way out."

He swipes the faint line and I understand.

I feel strange. Before Haymitch continues its clear I'm pretty certain I have an idea of what he is plotting and the confirmation that it doesn't involve Peeta or anyone else sinks deep into my chest. I've always been independent, but part of me secretly longs for someone to share my struggles with. When Gale happened upon me in the forest there was a silent, almost unconscious relief that I had that new partner in my fight for survival. I always had Prim when it came to my mother's absence – she knew the pain that gap left, felt it almost as much as I did. And now I have Peeta. I've had him this entire rebellious journey, and even though today there is romance and passion, even though he is my husband, he has always been so much more. He's understood the true depths of pain and agony and exhaustion the Games play on a person. He's met the people, seen the places, tasted the food. He's heard and seen and experienced things I can't describe accurately to anyone else, and these are so many of the things that have led to where we are now.

I swallow hard. I'm brought back to the mission before me and recognize that it doesn't matter who I've had with me before, right now I am alone again, like a hunter in a forest I don't know, hungry for something fresh to kill.

I don't let Haymitch finish.

"You want me to lead Snow into this, don't you?"

He looks back at me and silently nods.

"How long will I have to get out?"

"Not enough time, but if you don't miss a single beat I think you can make it to the exit and we'll be there to take you out. We can't stay once the bomb has been triggered, Katniss. If we let the ship hover even a second too late we'll be killed as well. Not that you're not worth dying for, but…you understand the severity of the risk I'm asking you to take?"

I nod this time and let out a simple sigh. My hands fold over my stomach and I look down. Maybe I'm not alone after all. Something moves in my throat and I instantly feel connected to the child inside of me.

"I meant what I said, Haymitch. I'll do whatever it takes to kill Snow."

My former mentor swallows and sets his nearest hand on my shoulder with considerable weight. He doesn't have to say anything else to me. I can hear all of his apologies in that small gesture, and I know that he would take my place if he could. I wouldn't want him, too, though. There are hundreds of people back in the Capitol who have fought and suffered major loss because of me. They gave everything to support me, and today, I am ready to give everything I have to support them.

Almost simultaneously we both turn back to the map and begin pouring over the details of the path. The jabberjays are still in place, but it's not my voice they're going to be mimicking. The rest of the team knows this, and will be ready for the screaming sounds of a different young woman as they enter the depths of the caves. At the cue, we all bolt towards the exit, Snow on our heels.

This is where my play becomes something different than anyone else. Peeta, being the fastest with his new leg, will be leading us out of the caves. Me, being the quietest, will be the last in line. Snow will follow my lead and I will have to go astray to get him to the place we need him to be. I have to take us deeper into the caves. Peeta and the rest of the team will be long gone into safety before they have time to stop and notice that I'm gone.

I follow Haymitch closely, his directions the odds between living and dying.

"The door blends perfectly into the wall. You'll have to count to know exactly where to stop," Haymitch adds. "There are no lights in this part of the maze, but once you step into the indentation put your hands straight out in front of you. If you run your fingers to the top you'll find a noticeable crack that runs smoothly in a line along the door. Run your hands carefully along it, from top to bottom and you'll find the large crevasse around the middle of the right-hand side that will help you push it back."

_Count my steps. Hands out front. Crack. Crevasse. Push._

I try to repeat the information over and over, sometimes aloud, sometimes silently. I close my eyes and picture the maze, trying to remember the exact path we're supposed to take. I add in the extra or slightly less steps Haymitch is describing to me now and begin to sweat. What if I forget them? What if I get distracted? What if I make a wrong turn? It's going to be nearly pitch black beneath the earth and we can't risk headlamps for most of the way, lest someone sees and follows us into the night. For each of us we simply have to rely on our instincts, our memories, the sounds of soft, rushing feet against the cave floor.

"Make sure to wait until you can't hear Peeta anymore and then push. Snow will have a light – he wouldn't dare run around in those caves in the dark – so he'll see the door before he gets past it. He has the balls to kill men without caring, but deep-down he's scared like a little girl of his own demise."

I smirk, even though it feels a little forced. I know the expression will comfort Haymitch.

"As soon as you get that door open, Katniss," Haymitch adds a little more calmly, "run."

My heart thuds loudly in my chest and I wish I could cover the sound with something other than my voice.

"It shouldn't take you long to get to the bridge. Keep your right hand on the wall the entire time – never let it part with the rock. As soon as you feel it disappear you'll know you're almost to the hiveline. That's your only entrance and your only exit."

I nod.

"You'll have fifteen minutes at best to get to the center of the hiveline. Once you're there it disappears into a boggle of forks and turns and winds. Stay right. Always stay right. If you do that you'll spin straight down, rounding the center cave and right back up again. You're quiet enough I believe you can lose Snow, but you have to listen for him. Make sure he hasn't stopped somewhere and is waiting for you. Keep him moving. Taunt him. Get him lost in there."

I want to ask what will happen if I get lost in there, too, but I know the answer. It would be a stupid question.

"The walls are thin in the hiveline. Unlike the rest of the caves, you can actually hear rumblings of sounds on the other side. This means, the second you begin to hear the jabberjays, get out. They'll pick up just as our bait is taken on the far end and you won't have much time after that. Try, Katniss, try to keep a tight circle and be back at the entrance fork by that time. If you don't stop running – if you keep Snow moving behind you and make a full circle as fast as you can – you'll have about 30 seconds of spare time."

"Time enough to paint my toenails," I try to joke. Haymitch smiles, but this time I can tell he's the one forcing it.

"As soon as you get to the entrance fork of the hive, make the left. It'll be the only left you make – remember that. You'll feel it straighten out and you're back on the bridge. Again, keep your hand on the right wall until it disappears and it's to the right you go. This will put you on to this lower pathway," his finger scrolls back to the narrow path that winds slightly beneath and to the side of the path the others will take, "your only exit. From there it's a straight shot out. We'll be waiting at the edge of the forest, just as you step out into fresh air. I promise we'll be there."

We reiterate details, and I try to throw all of my focus into it. I absorb the plans, the map, the distances. Haymitch gives me numbers to remember, exact positions to start and end counting.

_Right, always right. Except on my way out of the hive…or is it into the hive? No. Wait…_

The flight to District 13 isn't too long, only a few hours, and before I know it there's a loud bang on the heavy metal door. We both jump a little and look towards the sound.

Haymitch checks his watch and his face fills with something green that he tries to disguise. He grabs a handful of the papers that had been hiding the map when we'd first walked in and feverishly tosses them back on the large drawing. I step to his side to help.

"How do you feel?" He asks warily.

"I think I've got it. I mean, I have to, right?"

_What else can I do? Time is obviously up and there is no going back._

"This war could end tonight," he says as another loud bang hits the door. "I trust you."

My heart thuds loudly again, but this time there is something fierce behind it. Some adrenaline, yes, but more than that. There is fire. I can feel it creeping through my bones, through my fingers, through my chest. _Trust_. Trust in my abilities, in my decisions, in my determination.

I might have forgotten that I was the 'leader' for a while, but I think I always recognized that this war started because of a handful of berries and a desire to love over anything else – because of me, a girl who inadvertently was unafraid to show the district a piece of her mind. During that time, during the first Hunger Games, and well into the Quell, I had felt this kind of fire that's flowing through me now with Haymitch's simple words. It's an acceptance, a reality that I am going to die. Though I haven't died yet, I wonder if the third time is a charm. I picture Peeta's beautiful face and I want to fight more. I think of Gale and Prim and my mother, and the desire churns faster. I picture the cheering, clapping, smiling faces of the survivors and rebels back at the Capitol and it's almost overwhelming.

I touch my belly once more and feel some kind of strange comfort that the baby and I are going into this together, while short pains remind me that if I die, it dies with me. I wish I could somehow take this new life and give it to Peeta to take care of. I wish I could separate the two of us so that the child has a chance to see the world I might never get to, so that Peeta could always have this love, this part of me if I'm gone after tonight.

Haymitch's words, his trust, move me. I hear the echoes of a thousand other voices behind his, all the survivors, even those that died, agreeing. They trust me to kill Snow tonight. They have been building a pyramid for me to climb on, a staircase for me to reach the gate at the top. I go into this battle on the bodies of loved ones and shoulders of strong, hopeful men and women, and I know what's being asked of me at the top. I now exchange my life for all of theirs, and for the future of this world.

I am the mockingjay. This night is mine.

I barely notice Haymitch move towards the door, but the beeping of the keypad stops my thoughts. The red light goes white and the door slides open. Peeta is standing in the hall light and he searches for me instantly. I wash my face of conspiracy and step out from behind the table.

"It looks good," I say nonchalantly and pray that this fire inside of me is enough to help me lie without a single break. "I think I've got it all pretty well set, not too many changes."

Peeta is watching me, eyeing my mouth, my face, my expression. Haymitch steps between his line of sight and my gray eyes.

"How long until landing?" He asks loudly, forcing Peeta's attention.

"About twenty minutes."

Peeta strains to see around him as he speaks, but doesn't step into the room. I don't know if he'll try to ask me questions, but I have a terrible habit of committing unspoken ideas into realities with the easiest of glances and know that the promise I made to myself during the Quell has to be as strong now as it ever was. It will have to be stronger. Peeta can't miss a beat. He can't stop for anything. None of them can. I will save him.

I move forward, past Haymitch, and wrap my arms around Peeta's waist in the most genuine motion I can think of. I lay my head on his chest and he rubs my back cautiously. I breathe out and relax into the curve of his body.

"Twenty minutes to be close to you, then," I say quietly, turning my face to kiss his chest tenderly.

I feel Peeta relax back into me just enough that I think my lie might be working. I stay close to him, inhaling, accepting the last touches he'll ever give me.

"We should probably go over the plan one more time together," Haymitch suggests before either of us can fall too deep into our private moment, "make sure Katniss feels comfortable with the confusion of other brains around her."

He chuckles and it's not believable. Peeta nods, kisses the top of my head and unfolds us like a book. He keeps his right arm around my waist and I keep my left around his.

…_and I trust you,_ I hear Haymitch say again in my head. This war really could end tonight – what a strange, elating concept. Snow has destroyed friends and families and loved ones. He almost destroyed the man of my heart and threatens to destroy everyone else I care about still. They have bled, they have cried, they have gone hungry and tired and sat scared in corners because of him. The people of Panem have surrendered their life, their freedom, their breath because of him.

As the faces of Finnick, Keplina, Johanna and Paul come into view, I feel inexplicably grateful for everything they have been to me. For all of the places they have taken me, for the safety they have provided during every trial. I want to hug them, to tell them each how special they are. I want to encourage them to stay strong leaders for the new Panem, and to rebuild with joy and peace and courage, but I know any words of such a nature would give me away.

And then I see Gale step out of the shadows to my left and my heart swoons with affection. He truly has been my best friend in some of my deepest times of despair. Though we've recently had to struggle to get past the roadblock that is Peeta Mellark, Gale was the man that created the woman I am today. My skills, my resolve, my rebellion. We're so much alike I wish I could give him an entire speech of how to connect with my husband. If Peeta and I are complimentary to each other in leadership, then he and Gale would be, too. Together the two of them could take the remnants of a broken world and turn it into a paradise, and I worry Gale will hold my death against the man I love. I want to tell him that he knows better than that. I want to tell him that it was always me choosing, never Peeta causing.

Again, I have to refrain.

Haymitch pulls us together, a tight circle with short breathing and serious focus. I insert silent details and adjustments to the plan as they speak it, never letting go of my wrap around Peeta. When the intercom finally booms and the hovercraft shakes to lower, I give him one last important look. I don't say good-bye for certain, but wish him the best of luck and promise to see him again…someday. And then I kiss him. I press my hands into his jaw and kiss him solidly, foolishly, passionately. When my eyes open again there is a ladder lowering, Johanna attached without a lick of fear in the position of her body. I kiss Peeta softly on his jaw where my hand had just been and step into line to be lowered next.

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_**I'm sorry it took so long to update this chapter. Thank you for being patient and I hope you haven't lost the momentum of the story in the week. :) I hope to get the rest of the chapters out in characteristically fast speed, so keep bugging me. Your reviews are wonderful – thank you for taking the time! The feedback is perfection!**_


	16. If You Want Me, Come and Get Me

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hunger Games.**

_**The final mission has begun!**_

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The evening breeze hits me with a refreshing blow, my hair wiping around in its ponytail like it wants to fly away. I should have braided it, but I wasn't really thinking about those minor practicalities in the last few hours. Johanna is crouched low just to the right of me, her stance clear that we are in battle mode. Snow's men sit nearby and we're about to waltz right in front of them. Even though we're not concerned about the secrecy of our presence at this point, we don't want to open ourselves up for total failure from the immediate go. We know that we're walking targets, but aren't sure exactly how they might have planned to attack us tonight. We've predicted that man as best we can, but there is always room for surprise.

As soon as I feel my body released from the hovercraft's ray I step next to Johanna and crouch low with her. I steady my pack on my shoulders and take in a solid breath. I can see the caves shortly before us and scan my surroundings for unexpected movement.

"Do you think they're already inside?" I ask, realizing this is a question I should have asked a long time ago.

"No," Johanna whispers, "they'll wait for daylight before they dare go in." Her eyes dart back and forth between the trees that surround the main entrance to the caves and I readjust to a more ready position next to her.

"He's such a coward," I reply, and Johanna smiles.

With all of the power cut off from the nuclear supply center, we are totally without lighting on the inside of the caves. Of course this means pitch black, ridiculously inoperable space not only for Snow's men, but for us. This is why we've memorized the turns, the curves, the spaces. Over the last few days we've drilled and drilled and drilled until navigating the caves in the dark is as close to second nature as we can get in the short time. For me…as close as it can get in three hours. We don't predict that Snow is planning on going in far enough to be any distance from the comfort of the sunshine, however. The man that isn't afraid to slaughter thousands is too terrified of his own death to play around in the dark. This is something known of him for years, something we've always known could be an asset in battle against him – get the man into a place where he can't see his hand in front of his face and you've got him in the weak spot you want him.

The trick was always getting him there, because knowing your enemy's weakness is one thing, but taking advantage of it is entirely another. For Snow, he never wanted anything bad enough to do the battling work himself, to walk towards the right kind of trap. This is why he has a whole army of men at his service. Of course he's not going to put his own life on the table without good enough reason; he'll let everyone else die first. Now, however, there is the mockingjay. There is me. Now, there is something he finally wants so obsessively he'll even dare to go beyond the lengths of his comforts, to go into the places he fears but arrogantly believes he can still conquer. In all of his phony courage, in his adrenaline, he thinks he can capture me, too. He thinks he knows all of the tricks, all of the ways he can corner me. For years he might have been right, but this time I'm planning to corner _him_.

Gale exits the hovercraft next and we both step away for his landing. He looks calm, ready, anticipatory. He steps in line behind us and I hear him rustle around in his pack. I look over my shoulder and see him pull out a small silver piece with indentations and holes all over it. He rubs his thumb carefully over the top and glances back at me.

"A guide," he says simply. Gale hasn't said much more than five words to me since lunch and I look away just as he mournfully glances at my stomach.

Finnick, Paul and Keplina are behind us shortly and finally Peeta's tall, strong body slowly lowers, his blonde hair glowing in the moonlight. I see his arms swing, revealing that the hovercraft has separated from him, and look towards the sky. I can almost see Haymitch staring back at me, his eyes pleading and apologizing all at once, as the hovercraft lifts and disappears into the starry sky.

Now we are alone, the seven of us working together while simultaneously working against ourselves. Multiple lines are blurring together here, webs woven in and out of each other, all of us illuminated to only our own path in hopes that we might save the rest. I watch Peeta move, his body limber and sturdy. Commanding.

He ducks in front of Johanna and opens his palm, spying a dark watch illuminated by the numbers. He taps the face twice, the numbers changing each time he does, and then looks up. He searches the six of us, lingering on me a bit longer than anyone else and inhales.

"Ready?"

Johanna nods and I realize I've made the same motion with her. Peeta replies with a nod of his own and lifts from his low stance in a quick, stealth movement. I don't remember him moving so smoothly. I remember the clumsy, loud man that I didn't want to hunt with, but this man is older, sharper, effortless. Maybe I'm just imagining all of the best parts about him because I don't know that I'll ever see them again, but tonight Peeta Mellark is especially perfect.

With one swift wind, and the image of Peeta still washing through my mind, I realize we're running. All seven of us leap up at the same time, together in a tight formation, Peeta leading and Gale closing the line. I'll take that end place soon enough and try to make a note of all the ways Gale makes himself heard so that I can avoid them and fall into total silence once we're inside.

The wind is ripping past us and I can't tell if it's the speed of my feet or the actual air moving. The forest blurs and then immediately opens to a pile of dark gray rocks. We weave in and out of them until they begin to lower and open up. I don't want to trip and every scattered rock becomes a dance of avoidance. Our breathing is rhythmic and easy. This, for all intents and purposes, is the simple side of things – the trouble-free part.

There is a clearing ahead of us, but we continue along the line of the rocks until the opening of the cave looms into larger view. I feel a sense of relief as this short leg of the mission is drawing to an end. Uneventful, even though I'm sure Snow's men are watching us right now, spying on us as we enter the caves. Surely they're plotting, scheming, sorting out all the ways to crush the world down on us.

And then I catch the tiniest shimmer of silver and white.

Henchmen.

Weapons.

Of course they would start to descend on us now. Just when I'm telling myself we're lucky they've decided to stay away.

Of course they wouldn't stay away.

Everyone's pace quickens now, they have seen the shadows and flickers as well. We couldn't really direct each other if we wanted to, but instead just trust Peeta as he leads us along, and trust ourselves to make the way if we end up on our own. I don't hear Gale anymore, I only hear my own feet rushing and leaping towards the cave entrance. If we can get inside tonight we'll have a few hours to rest before we have to get up again.

Daylight will come, and Snow's men will hunt us.

This, we can only hope.

The men close in on us with unbelievable speed. We hitch our breathing simultaneously, our legs desperately sprinting with life towards a dark indentation, the opening of the caves. It grows with every bound. The colors around me raise and move, gray rock blending with brown earth and green forest. And white. Without thinking my head jerks to the side and I take in the definite form of a band of men surrounding a large, metal object half way through the clearing. I see a pile of bodies rushing in strange directions, as if to circle us, but all avoiding the direct path of the cave entrance and surrounding, while a handful stick close to the large object. I chance one more glance in hopes of more clarity just as a deafening crack explodes through the air.

Johanna screams – a sound I've never heard her make before and stumbles to the side. A massive canon ball smashes into the side of the cave wall just above Finnick, rocks crumbling and dropping in larger and larger chunks to the ground around us. Peeta leaps backwards and we all dive out of each other's way just as the wall nearest us cracks and splits down in one lightning bolt move. A large section of the pointed peak rumbles like thunder, smaller parts from the bases tumbling out of the way and down onto us. I look up and see the large peak shaking in the moonlight.

"Katniss!" I hear Gale shout as he grabs my shoulder and wrenches me backwards. Peeta, Johanna and Paul fly in separate directions and Keplina lets out a horrific noise. Gale jumps over me, his body taking the majority of the blow as the giant boulder breaks off the top of the rock formation and rolls down with frantic speed. It crashes against the wall and bounds up like a ball. When it lands again, it hits just feet from our heads. The boulder continues to roll down the gentle slope towards the clearing and I chance a look up. It's rolling straight towards the canon that broke it down and the weapon's masters are running towards the forest.

I take in a breath, but my mind is too packed with adrenaline to feel any sense of relief that I wasn't just crushed.

"They're still moving!" A voice booms towards us.

I feel Gale stir, still protecting me, just as gunshots begin to crackle through the air and bullets pelt all around my head. I can hear footsteps beaming towards us and I realize I need a weapon to defend myself. I reach around for my pack, but Gale is heavy over me, covering my only resources with his body. I shove at him, but he refuses to budge.

"Knife," I manage, "get out my knife!"

Nothing.

"Gale?! Get my knife out or get off of me!" I push and shove again, but his body is limp. Panic rushes into me now – he's limp. Motionless. Is he breathing? I can't tell. There is too much going on around me to hear or feel. Gunshots continue to aim at us. My legs kick and squirm and I finally manage to crawl out from under the weight of his body.

"Gale!" I wish I could shout or scream this, but my throat barely opens. All I can see is blood spreading across his shirt.

"There she is!" A voice booms again and I look up to see a tall figure jumping in my direction.

I throw my pack off my shoulders and swing it across the air just as he lands in its way. I wish there could have been rocks inside of it, but the heavy knife and water canteens, combined with the sheer force in my blow, stop him for just a second. Enough time to adjust my stance and throw another heavy blow, this time just my fist, into this stomach while my knee lands in his groin. The man stumbles backwards and I send another forceful fist into his neck, buying time to grab my own weapon. I unzip my pack so fast I'm amazed it isn't ripping wide. _Why didn't I belt my knife on? What ever possessed me to put it inside of my pack?!_ My hand reaches in blindly and finds the leather sheath immediately. I grab on to it, releasing my hold on everything else, and the pack falls with a loud clang to the ground as the knife whips into my palm. I throw the sheath to the ground with the rolling canteens and step backwards, lowering and preparing myself to slice his throat with the now exposed blade.

He stumbles once more and reaches for the knife tucked in his belt, shorter and wider than mine. _Why didn't I see that? I should have grabbed it when I had the chance. Damnit!_

His breathing catches and he swallows with a cringe, the point in his neck I hit him surely ringing in his ears and throat. My knife sits perched between my fingers, begging to be sent straight into his chest, but I wait for his next move. There is another crack and another loud rumbling and we both look towards the noise. Through the darkness I can see more rocks falling and smacking against the side of the caves, this time closer to the main opening.

I hear my opponent's feet moving, but I'm not fast enough. I feel the blade of his knife pierce into the top of my arm and with an unexpected loud scream my knife falls from my fingers. I don't have time to pick it back up, but I try. I drop to the ground to clasp around the shimmering metal object and he bounds towards me. His body falls onto me with a surprising weight and lack of control and I punch as best I can with my uninjured half to no avail. I move frantically, zealously, desperately, fighting against him and waiting for the next stab.

It doesn't come.

"Katniss," Peeta's voice urges, "I got him – it's okay. He's dead, he's dead."

I stop moving, my head spinning and reeling from the pain. The weight lifts off of me as Peeta rolls him aside. He reaches down to scoop me up to my feet and I feel a surge at his touch.

"Ow!" I exclaim as he uses my arms to pull. The slice on my arm is significant, that much I can tell without having to look at it.

"Did he hurt you?!" Peeta says looking for blood.

I can only nod and brace the wound with my left hand. I can feel the blood seeping out and I'm glad that in this shadowed light Peeta will be unable to see just how seriously I'm sure I've been cut. Peeta reaches for it, but I step away.

"No, please," I say softly, "we can look at it once we're inside. Where are the others? We've got to get into the caves."

I realize this is a lie. The moonlight is all we'll have to assess the damage, but I'm not thinking about my own survival right now. I'm thinking about getting Snow. Peeta stands taller than me, his eyes pouring down into mine with concern. I'm sure he hears what I'm thinking – he almost always does – but he understands the importance of my suggestion as much as I do and he doesn't linger. We have to get inside. _That_ is not a lie.

"Gale," Peeta whispers and looks behind me. I turn quickly and set my knife down on the dirt near my best friend's face. He's lying on his back in the same crumpled position I'd tossed him earlier, the front of his formerly grey shirt dark with blood. Peeta leans down and listens for breathing.

"Anything?" I ask anxiously, hopefully. I stroke Gale's clammy cheek as Peeta's ear waits close to his mouth.

"Something, but it's faint," he replies. "I'm going to get him inside – can you get the rest?"

A twinge of pleasure grows in my chest with this question. Peeta needs me in a way he hasn't needed me in a while. To be strong, to lead, to do something effective. I nod and he reaches around Gale's back and pulls his arm over his shoulders, lifting and heaving until Gale is flopped over him like a yoke. With a grunt Peeta stands and glances towards me again.

"Johanna should be against the wall with Paul and Keplina, but I'm not sure about Finnick."

I want to kiss him or something, as would normally be appropriate in a good-bye situation, but he jogs away without another glance.

The wall is only twenty yards or so from where I'm standing and I look in either direction for movement. I see more bodies on the ground, all in white. All Snow's men.

"Johanna?" I hiss in the open night.

"Yeah," a faint voice responds and I jerk towards the noise.

Directly to my left there is a scuffling sound and a few grunts and I catch Johanna's face in the light. Her hair is ripped from its tight bun and laying in pieces across her forehead and cheeks. She picks up something from the ground and tosses it on her back – her pack. She looks back at me and opens her mouth to speak.

Another boom explodes and cracks, this time directly over the entrance to the caves. The whole ground shakes and the rumbling is deafening. Johanna and I both dart our eyes towards the deep black opening and I think of Peeta and Gale.

"The entrance!" I cry as rocks begin to fall in massive chunks over it.

"Where's Peeta?" Johanna replies, throwing herself back into action.

"He took Gale into the caves! What about Finnick?"

"He's with Paul trying to get Keplina out."

Before I can ask another question Johanna darts towards a recent pile of rocks and boulders and I follow. The ground rumbles and shakes again and a few more lose rocks begin to dip and stack at the entrance. What if I get separated from Peeta? What if they get trapped? Johanna stops shortly and I make out the shapes of two men, Finnick and Paul, scrambling and heaving through the rubble. The moonlight is strong, but not quite strong enough to make out their goal. It's not until I hear Paul mumble Keplina's name that I notice something twitch towards his knee. A shoe.

_He's trying to get Keplina out…_

I rush towards them and join his digging, throwing rocks aside as much as I can move them, but my arm pinches tightly and a blinding pain seers through my body, rendering me less of a help than I want to be. Paul mumbles her name again and I look towards the shoe. It's not moving, and I don't think any other part of her is moving, either.

Johanna stands behind me and I look back to see the same expression on her face that reads in my mind. She makes eye contact with me and I look back to Paul, desperately trying to throw chunks aside with little avail. We haven't been here thirty minutes and there's already one casualty to account for. I remember Gale and desperately hope there aren't two. Finnick has stopped trying as well and I can see a sadness run through his body as he stands up and away from the task.

This is war all right. Bleeding, fighting, dying war. A month ago if you'd asked me to react to a situation like this I would have shrugged and told you it was just another day in Panem. There would have been no tears, no emotion, no suggestion. Death is now, and has always been, a prominent part of life in this world.

But my heart has gone soft without permission. I see Paul's desperation, his fear, his devastation and suddenly it's _Peeta's_ hands trying to dig _me_ out. It's my foot peaking out of the rubble, the rest of my smashed and flattened body under the crumble. It's my death, and my love's useless attempts to retrieve me.

More feet begin to approach and I know we don't have much time. If we're going to get into the caves before the opening collapses, or before we're attacked again, we're going to have to move now. There isn't even time to think.

"Paul," I say calmly, stepping towards him. I lay my hands on his shoulders and gently try to pull him away. "Paul, we have to go."

I look towards the cave entrance one more time, still rumbling and creaking as smaller rocks fall, giving way for the larger ones that are soon to follow and will close up the little gap that's left. Paul's shoulders hunch forward, the weight of them falling onto the rock pile. Another crack echoes and I recognize it – definitely not another rock. I look behind me and see a flash of white rushing towards us, gun in hand.

Another crack. Another.

"Paul," I urge more seriously, "come on!"

Johanna disappears and I look towards Finnick for help. The rocks begin to give way at the cave entrance and everything seems to spin. My arm screams in agony, my whole body falling sick with it. I wonder how Gale is doing – if Peeta is able to save him. So many things happening at once. There is another crack, and then another on top of it. Two guns firing. My head darts towards the noise, expecting to see more men running in, but instead catch a flash of skinny, tan pants ducking behind a tree, aiming the second gun back towards the first.

Johanna has grabbed a gun from one of the bodies.

"Get into the caves," she shouts, aiming away at the now hidden form of the man firing back at her. More rocks, bigger rocks are falling. We only have seconds left before the entire thing seals us out.

Finnick pulls at Paul's shoulder harder than I had and finally he budges. Johanna gets up and runs with us, shooting towards the gunman the whole way to the entrance. Finally, his form falls into view, limp. She's killed him. She drops the gun and turns to run into the darkness, but I see something standing in the center of the clearing that stops me from joining.

Snow.

He stands there, a pale suit that reflects the glowing light of the sky. I can see a cane in one hand and a hat in the other. He doesn't plan on getting dirty at all here.

"Katniss!" Johanna screams and the ground rumbles beneath my feet. Rocks are falling past me, barely missing me as I duck down and cover my head with each sound. But I continue to watch him.

This is it. For everyone that has died, this is the day, the moment that I'm going to avenge them all.

_Get him in there, Katniss,_ I suddenly hear Haymitch say. _Taunt him. Make him want it. Want you._

I take in a deep breath, the world collapsing around me, and shout into the night.

"You lose," I scream as loudly as possible over the tumbling rocks. I see him shift his weight slightly and hope he's heard. I don't know what else to scream, but decide to add the simplest and most honest point I can think of.

"If you really want me now, you're going to have to come and get me."

I disappear into the darkness of the caves as the last boulder falls into place, closing us off from the scene outside.

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_**Yeah! I'm having a lot of fun writing this part, so I hope it's enjoyable to read! Let me know! :)**_


	17. Directions

My breathing is heavy, my heart pounding. The cut on my arm is screaming and seering with pain, but I press the opposite hand hard onto it and the pressure relieves the feeling for a moment. The crumbling rocks have completely closed off any light into the cave entrance and I don't know where I'm standing. Why wouldn't Haymitch let us bring some kind of light down here? I listen for the sounds of others and hear more breathing, and then a terrible, low gurgling sound straight ahead. Gale.

"Peeta?" I ask into the blackness, assuming he's still with my friend.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice strong but wary.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" his voice trails off strangely. I want to be near him.

"I can't see anything – talk to me. Lead me to you."

"Wait," Johanna interjects from the darkness, "before anyone moves, let's do roll call. Obviously we have Peeta and Katniss. Finnick?"

"Yep," Finnick replies shortly.

"Gale?"

"He's here, but he's hurt. He's been shot." The wariness in Peeta's voice is more prominent this time and the pain in my arm flares again.

"How bad is it?" Finnick asks softly, but strongly.

"Did you see the wound before we were closed in?" Johanna adds.

"Yeah, I saw it…but that won't do us a lot of good now. He's still not conscious and I'm not really sure what to look for…I'm not the doctor…"

There is a silence that follows, and a gentle sob breaks into the air.

Keplina had been the doctor. She hadn't trained as long as my mother had, but she had trained professionally, a rarity amongst our hodge-podge group of rebels. She had also been the budding love of Paul's life, and now her body lay smashed under a massive pile of boulders outside these walls.

"Paul?" Johanna asks softly, hearing the same sob as the rest of us.

He doesn't reply, but sniffles again. It's enough for Johanna.

"We need to group up," she continues, "but I don't want to lose anyone, so let's do this slowly, one at a time, all right?" There are a few mumbled agreements. "We should probably move towards Peeta, since he's with Gale. Hopefully we can reorient and get out of here."

"We're going to have to think fast," Peeta adds. "I can smell blood on his lips."

My throat stops. Gale was shot protecting _me_. If he dies, it'll be one more person that dies because of me, and for the first time, someone I dearly, desperately love.

"Katniss, you probably know more than any of us what you look for…why don't you move first."

"Okay," I say, a sense of urgency in my voice, even though I know I'm the last person to walk towards a medical situation. That's my mother, not me. But this is Gale…and I'll do anything to try and save him. "Peeta, start talking. Describe to me everything you can remember about the wound and just keep repeating it until I get to you."

I hear him inhale and I take one tiny step in the direction of the sound.

"Um, well," Peeta tries, "it was in his side. I don't know…I didn't get a really good look at it before I shoved my shirt over it to stop the bleeding."

My feet continue to inch towards his voice, one foot slowly after the other, correcting every couple of moves to make a straight line to him.

"…he started choking as soon as I got him in here, I think, and I didn't know what to do. I don't think that can be good. At least he was sort of conscious…God…I wish I knew what I was talking about…"

More steps. I have to be close. I can feel the vibrations of his voice each time he speaks and just want to touch him, to know he's safe, to feel the comfort of his warm arms around my body.

"…there was more blood…the bullet hit him in his side, maybe around the middle of his side…"

A few last steps and I can hear a heartbeat. I scuffle my feet for a second and hear a deep breath as Peeta inhales to speak. Another step, however, and I let out a loud, unintended exclamation as I trip into his side.

"Oh!" He returns, the air forcefully expelled as my knee lands in his ribs.

"Ah! I'm sorry, Peeta…Peeta!"

"Katniss…"

I drop to my knees, and reach for his body, but he doesn't hug me the way I want him to. I feel along his chest with my hand and realize he is hunched over something…Gale. I move my hands down to the ground and inch them forward until they run into a warm leg. I search the shape – a thigh – and move forward until I collide with Peeta's blocking shoulder, his arms pressed tight against Gale's side.

I set my hands over Peeta's and gently push them away, taking over the task of holding pressure down against Gale's body. Peeta sighs and I can just picture the expression on his face – a combination of guilt, frustration, and determination.

"Katniss?" Johanna asks into the air.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm here. Follow the sound of my voice."

We repeated this until all five of us, Finnick, Johanna, Paul, Peeta, and myself were huddled together, side by side, all circled around Gale's body on the ground. The cave entrance is a wide sort of foyer, with a low, but open roof that arches upwards in the center. There is only one exit from here, but that immediately forks into three different paths and begins our descent into the maze. Peeta didn't see much when he got Gale inside because of the cave-in, but, knows at least that he had set his body down to the right of the exit. If we feel our ways around carefully we'll find that opening, and the second, and most dangerous part of our journey will start.

Johanna and Finnick immediately begin to discuss our options, and I stay close to Gale and Peeta.

"He'll be waiting for us on the other end," Finnick says calmly. "Surely he'll know that's the exit we'll take."

"I don't think we should risk the other route," Johanna chimes in. "We don't know it well enough."

"We're forgetting one major point here," Paul chimes in, his voice shaky, but certain. "How the hell are we going to set the bomb off, now? Everything banked on getting Jilter in to the jabberjays line of fire. I don't care how convincing our spies are out there, the jabberjays aren't going to drag him from either of the remaining routes."

Finnick and Johanna are quiet, contemplating this dark reality, when it dawns on me that we haven't heard the birds yet. Shouldn't they be repeating us already? Our great plan, as simple as it is, was only ever to lead Jilter by the sound of our voices hushed and whispering, the occasional yelling for each other as if we're being caught. Jilter, after long months of study by the spies, has always been the one that desperately wants Snow's approval. He'll be the easiest to stir away from his commands and the original group if he thinks he's going to do something big and exciting that will give him Snow's approval.

"Where are the jabberjays?" I ask into the darkness.

"They're deeper than this," Johanna replies, "I'm not sure where the spies set them, but Haymitch said not to worry about it – they're in the right spot…whatever the hell that means…"

Haymitch, the great mastermind, always thinking ahead, always planning and plotting something tricky and strange, weaving thick webs that no one can be certain of. I wish he was here…

Suddenly the plans Haymitch laid out for me have a new weight.

Haymitch does nothing without a plan, I'm realizing. I should have realized it long before this, but right now, in this totally black space, with my best friend dying at my fingertips and everyone else's lives in the balance, it strikes me as more relevant than ever. I close my eyes to concentrate and try to remember every single thing he said to me. Did he know they would attack us with canons and inevitably block off this route? Did he tell me about the secret path to lead the others through it? I want him to speak to me again, the way he has in the past, the way he did in the first games. I want to understand everything he's done…every detail. Every move. Every thought. Every look. There has to be a clue…there always is.

_Think hard,_ he is prodding, _the answer is there for you._

A low moan escapes Gale and my eyes pop wide, even though the blackness is the same eyes shut or open. The discussion around us silences and I lean forward towards the direction of his face, my good hand still pressing Peeta's shirt against his side.

"Kat…" he tries.

"Gale, I'm right here," I reply. I don't know if his eyes are open or not and I imagine the confusion this blackness could bring. "We're in the caves, we're safe at the moment."

"Ugh," he groans again and I feel him move slightly.

"No, Gale, don't move. We'll figure out how to move you in just a second. Just stay there for now."

He doesn't listen and continues to squirm around. His hand lifts and searches cautiously for mine.

"How…how…bad…"

"I don't know," I reply honestly.

He coughs and I smell what Peeta was talking about. I can't handle this image, deep red creeping across his lips, but my mind is determined and I won't let my body move from this position – holding on with what I have to keep his life moving long enough to get him out of here. I won't be able to hold this position, and will have to part ways soon enough, but for now, I am here for him, I will be the one to keep him alive as long as I'm able to.

It takes another minute of silence for my mind to relax enough to notice the warm dripping down my own arm. The cut. As soon as I think of it the pain comes back stronger than ever and my head goes weak. I'm glad no one can see me as I waiver backwards. Good thing I'm already on the floor or else I might land there with an equally painful thud.

I swallow and clench my jaw and hope no one can hear my heart beat faster. I should ask Peeta to trade places, but I don't want to accept the idea of stepping away from Gale for a second more than I have to.

Gale moans again, but this time it's not as much a sound of pain as a sound of movement and trying.

"Gale, stop," I urge.

"Actually," Joanna finally speaks up, "do you think you could stand?"

I turn towards her voice with an incredulous look.

"I…don't know…." Gale manages out before coughing again and my chest sinks deeper. We don't have time. We need more time.

"I can carry him," Finnick says confidently.

"So can I," Peeta adds. "We can trade off."

"I think we're going to have to go combat style on this," Joanna suggests. "It always resorts to that…"

Paul scoffs loudly and I shift my weight uneasily.

"What are you thinking?" Finnick exhales loudly and I can imagine him ruffling his hair, the way he always does when he's serious.

"There are two routes out of here, and surely Snow's men will be manning both. We'll take the one we always planned to, but Katniss, Paul and I can take the lead. You and Peeta can carry Gale out and we'll cover you. We'll try to make it into the forest and Haymitch can meet us in there. We'll just fight our way through."

"That's it?" Paul replies loudly, anger pure in his tone. "That's your big plan? Please."

"What?! You have a better idea?" Johanna replies harshly.

"Yes! Not that!"

"Come on, Paul," Finnick tries, "this is not the time to be troublesome."

"I'm not being troublesome, she's being ridiculous."

"How is this ridiculous? Do you want the rest of us to end up like Keplina?"

If only any of us could see each other, I'm sure fists would begin to fly at this point, and if I wasn't so lightheaded I might have the energy to stop Paul and Joanna from yelling. Instead, I close my eyes again and try to concentrate on Haymitch. Hand-to-hand combat is not his great plan for us, I'm sure of it. At least, not in the way Joanna is suggesting. I'll agree with Paul on this one…it's a stupid idea. Haymitch always has something much more intricate in mind.

"Catnip…" Gale moans and I lean back down towards him.

"Yeah," I whisper, close to his skin.

"I think…you're going to need this…"

I feel Gale shift slightly and his hand reaches into his pocket on the side opposite the bullet wound. He moves slowly, painfully, and Paul and Joanna continue to argue next to us. I feel Peeta touch the small of my back and wonder how he found that spot without searching the rest of me first. I always loved it when he gently touched me that way, as if he was holding me and leading me forward at the same time, taking the lead, yet letting me be the one to move.

Gale groans a little and I feel his hand fall onto mine, dropping something cold onto the back of it.

"What's this?" I ask quietly.

"Directions…" he replies hoarsely.

"For what? The maze?"

Gale coughs and I close the strange metal piece into my fingers as my aching arm reaches towards his chest.

"For the other…" he begins, but doesn't finish.

"The other what, Gale?"

_The other route,_ I hear Haymitch say. Gale coughs again and I exhale. Did Haymitch warn him? He did know what was going to happen. Why didn't he prepare us all? Maybe he didn't know, but he suspected. Telling us about the second route would only cause confusion in the short time we had to study.

"This is for the second path?" I whisper.

I imagine him nodding, but can't see or hear the motion if it's happening. I wait, but Gale has gone silent again.

"Gale? Gale! Talk to me. Gale…please."

Peeta's hand disappears from my back and I hear him rustle next to me. I feel Gale's chest pressed down, his body moving slightly and realize that Peeta is hovering over him, listening for breathing, for a heartbeat.

"Peeta, what's going on?"

"I can't tell, but he's still breathing. God damnit I wish we had light."

Paul and Joanna stop arguing, their attention on the rising tone of Peeta's response.

"Gale!" I urge, shaking his body, but he doesn't stir. "Gale, come back. Come back to me!"

My hands grip on top of him, squeezing and shaking his body to wake him, to keep him conscious. A million thoughts are racing through my mind, a million regrets, a million doubts. A million guilts. Gale has been hurt by me so many times, and yet, he was always there. He always stuck around, he always cared. I think of Keplina and pain washes over me as the association between her and Gale becomes potential, becomes real. I don't want his body to be another that we have to leave behind, another limp and lifeless form. No. Gale has to survive this.

"Gale…please…" I begin to sob, the tears unstoppable.

I feel Peeta's arms find me and wrap awkwardly around my waist in the dark, but I refuse to let go of Gale. I keep shaking, I keep calling his name.

"Don't do this!" I demand. "Don't die on me, Gale!"

Peeta pulls on my hips, forcing me backwards and on to the ground. He doesn't hold on to me, but trades me places, whirling beside me and back to Gale's side. I can only imagine what we look like, covered in blood, haggard and dirty. It's like the Games all over again…a nightmare I'll never escape. I can hear Peeta moving swiftly, his body shifting second by second around Gale's body. There is a slap, a hit. Peeta's breathing gets heavier.

I hear Johanna whispering and suddenly she is falling into me, her bracing hand landing directly into the slice on my arm. The pain sears straight through me, blinding me, like white lightning straight through my jaw and teeth and skull. I pinch my mouth as tight as possible to stop any sounds from exiting, but a muffled groan escapes regardless. It's a low sound, an agitated noise.

I feel incoherent. Adrenaline rushing through me, blood pumping out of me, emotions screaming inside of me. Quickly the baby in my belly bursts into my mind, twitching and kicking and pushing around as it chokes with the loss of blood and air. The words are beginning to slur out of my mouth and echo strangely in the cave. Even when Gale coughs again I can't quite get my head steady enough to reply in relief. We're hopeless, Gale and I. Worthlessly injured before we've even begun. The darkness I'd worried about. Why hadn't I taken more time to prepare for this kind of confusion?

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Johanna apologizes as she shuffles to regain her stand. "Are you okay? You don't sound okay…Katniss?"

I hear something clank to the ground and realize I'd forgotten about the silver piece that Gale had given to me.

Directions.

My head is spinning and swirling, nausea creeping up through my chest into my throat and down to the pit of my stomach.

_Hold it together, Katniss. You're going to be okay…just hold it together._

"Katniss?" Johanna asks again, her voice tinged with alarm.

"Yeah," I managed to mumble out through gritted teeth, "I'm fine."

I don't think she believes me. I wouldn't believe me. However, I'm talking and at this point, that's the best we can ask for from any of us.

Gale coughs and my heart skips a beat. I think of the metal piece he'd just given me and want to ask him a million questions. I think about it for a second, and decide quickly that he's not going to answer. I'm going to have to decide what he meant and hope I've made the right choice.

What had Haymitch told him? Why would Haymitch think Gale needed help getting out of the caves? And why him and no one else? Again I wonder how much Haymitch really predicted, how much he really knows. If he knew when we landed that they would have to take a different path than the one studied, why did he not explain that on the ship?

_Would you have told them? Confused them?_ I hear Haymitch ask into my woozy mind.

No, I want to say. I wouldn't have confused them with more than they could consider at the time. But will it confuse them now? Now when they aren't thinking the way they were before. Now, this metal piece is heavy with need…but it's not me that's going to need it. I lower my hands back to the ground and let my fingers run around the dirt near me until they find the circular item they were searching for.

I rub my thumb around slowly and feel both bumps and punctures, arranged in lines from one side to the other. I count each mark, trying to make sense of them, trying to remember the directions Haymitch gave me with this piece from any of the angles. The bumps feel like they make a square, but I'm not sure where the starting point is. I try one way, and then the next. The third still doesn't match, but as I rotate it the last time, and count steps, something starts to make sense.

It is the secret path. The connecting path to the hiveline that will get us out of here unnoticed by Snow.

"Johanna," I start, "I know what we need to do."

* * *

_**I'm sorry this chapter was so long in coming! I can't believe how long it took me to actually think it through and write it out. But thank you for your patience! I know you were all just sitting there, desperately wishing you could read a fanfiction story of mine. Hahahahaha. ;)**_


	18. The Last Victor

**_I don't own THG!_**

* * *

It doesn't make sense to me, this plan. I don't understand why Haymitch only told me, why he wouldn't just make it part of the original idea. Why did it have to stay secret, this path?

But it wasn't secret…Gale knew about it. Haymitch has specifically said that the only other person that knew about the route would not be down here with me…am I reading this wrong? Nothing is making sense.

Suddenly, there's frustration. It feels ridiculous, the constant lying and changing and masterminding that never really seems to include me. I no longer feel in control of anything that I do. I'm never in control of my future, my plans, my destinations, even my present situations. Someone else is always behind the wheel pushing me around.

I feel a confidence that Peeta has never treated me this way, but then I remember that he already has. That he lied when he was kidnapped and taken to the Capitol. That even Peeta has betrayed me.

There's a strange resentment over the baby he's made me carry. Perhaps that was all part of the plan, too. Is even my body sacred?

My heart is thudding and I'm getting dizzy again. I can't feel my fingers as well as I had before.

Now there is guilt because I can't believe I could think about Peeta that way, especially in this instant when all I want is him to hold me up.

"Katniss?" Johanna chimes in. "Katniss, are you there?"

I realize that I've dropped off in silence, but now things are spinning. My jacket is becoming soaked in my own blood and I'm annoyed that a wound on my arm could cause me this much weakness. There are worse ways to be injured. I am stronger than this.

Are my feet still at the ends of my legs? Because I'm losing balance.

"Katniss?" Peeta exclaims. "Katniss, what's going on?"

I feel him reaching for me, the wind moving as his hand heads towards my arm. I flinch, but he won't see it.

"Yes," I manage. "Yes, I'm just thinking. I'm sorry."

There is effort in my words and I shake my head to remind myself of consciousness.

"We don't have time for this, Katniss. Talk to me now – we are wasting precious seconds."

I rub the coin in the fingers of my good arm and there is a whirlwind of images in my mind. The maps Haymitch showed me, Snow waiting on the other end of the caves, the center of the Hive he needs to be lured into…Gale on the floor bleeding, my face white as I struggle to stand, Peeta oblivious, a violent birth, a burning house, Snow's rose on the front step, a pan of all the refugees and fighters on our side…

Gale doesn't know what is on that coin. I am suddenly certain of this. He just knows that I will. I am like a beast, raised for slaughter, only so innocent and terrifyingly willing. This is not so complicated as I tried to think it was. Johanna, Paul, Peeta…they would have never let me go into this alone, but if they don't know where I'm going, they can't stop me. They've gotten me as far as they can, and now they must get out and leave me to finish what I was always destined to do.

That's all it is. The treachery wasn't treacherous at all. Everyone wants to be so heroic in the journey, but Haymitch knows, just as I do, that in the end, there is only one death necessary.

"There is another way, but I think you should lead, Johanna."

"What? What other way? Out of here?"

"You just have to trust me, all right?"

There is silence.

"…okay," she finally says quietly.

I am feeling weaker by the moment – she's right. I'm wasting seconds away. "You're going to give me five minutes, exactly," I say brokenly, "then you're going to run for your life on the same route you had originally planned. Don't stop to breathe, to think, to question. Just run, as fast as you possibly can out of here just like nothing has changed. The hovercraft will be waiting for you."

"What? That doesn't make sense," she replied.

"It never does. Five minutes, exactly."

I hear her swallow. That's as good as an agreement to me.

I find the strength to turn towards Peeta, who is still over Gale. The two men I love most in the world. "Just as fast as you can," I say softly. He doesn't reply.

I'm certain I've just said the last words to him I ever will.

Peeta doesn't move next to me, and it feels tense. He knows as well as I do that this baby was never more than a dream anyway. How could we be so selfish to think it was possible to raise a child like this? To consume ourselves with a baby when this was the kind of life we were destined for? He doesn't reply. He lets the silence seal the next few moments before us.

There are no more words to be said. I close my eyes again and bite my teeth down to help me stand. The map Haymitch has shown me lights up in my mind again, this time uninterrupted.

I don't know how I'll move, let alone run, but somehow my body moves forward. I take a few steps and repeat, "Five minutes."

* * *

I can't hear if they've done what I've asked, not this far down. Not this close to the center. But I hear the constant click of my watch passing seconds and I know it's almost time. It's like I can read it in the black air directly from Haymitch's mind. It's been 20 minutes. Johanna and the others, running for their lives, should have made it out and Snow will see that I'm not with them. He'll send his man in after me, but that man works for the rebels and I know he'll tell Snow I'm trapped in here.

Snow won't be able to resist. I can see his black eyes, I can practically smell him already, wafting down the tunnels like a rotting garden of ripe roses.

He'll enter this secret entrance at the discovery of our spy, to the distraction and safety of the others…it's so simple. This entrance was always meant for that, but it was never meant for anyone else. The first way was always the way they were meant to get to safety.

I think of Peeta. I think of Gale. I hope they're both alive and safe. I feel a quick pang of jealousy that someday someone else will get to love both of them, but there's no time for feelings now. I inhale and reach my good hand out to feel the wall.

I don't know how I got here. The brief study of the map, the press on the coin helped, but in this state, practically delusional, barely standing with the pain shooting through all parts of my body, my head aching, my shoulders sloudching…I am a tattered end of human life, but I know my job, and I will make sure I do it right.

There is a buzz of wings over my head that reminds me I'm in the right place. I can't start my calls yet or he'll know too early it's a trap. I just breathe and wait.

I can feel the blood drying on the edges of my clothes now and I think I'm going to throw up. I wish I could. I wish I could throw up this baby inside of me into someone's safe arms so it doesn't have to die with me this way. I stagger alongside the Hiveline. I keep forgetting where I am and shake my body desperately to make my brain remember.

More seconds, more minutes passing. Click…click…click.

It's so dark in here I can't tell if I'm conscious or not.

Footsteps.

My eyes widen. Soft, but firm steps, brushing the dust and rock surface as they head in my direction. Everything echoes down here. I can't tell how close they are.

I wait.

A deep, snaky voice calls into the darkness. "You've got me down here, Katniss. I've come to get you, as you suggested I should."

I stop breathing, but I can't tell if it's because I choose to or not. This was too easy. Too simple to lure him down here when he knew I was all alone.

"You want to get me lost in a darkness I can control?" There's a flicker of light like a spotlight and I wonder if I'm hallucinating now. The spotlight moves again and I inhale sharply. No, this is it, and I'm going to look that murderer right in his eyes when I kill him.

The light moves trepidatiously. Maybe Snow knows that he's going to die down here, too.

I lift my shoulders and place a soft hand on my stomach. _I'm sorry, baby, _I think. _I never wanted to bring you into this. I'm sorry that you're stuck with me and that you can't go with your father. I'm sorry that you have to see this, that you have to feel this, that you have to go through all the effort of being created, just to be destroyed._

The light hits me, but I'm not startled. It sits on me and I hear Snow sigh.

"At least you could put up a fight," he says callously.

I imagine what he is seeing – my sunken face, covered in sweat, dirt and blood. My glazed eyes staring at the ground. My jacket, ripped open at the sleeve and sagging in drying red liquid. My hand on a stomach that should be round, coddling what he never believed could be there in the first place.

I look up slowly, but all I see is light.

"This is embarrassing, Katniss. I expected more from you."

I look directly at him. I don't know what part of him I'm looking at, but I know it is electric. A threat. He mocks.

"You're a liar, Katniss. You lie to everyone, and yet you think you should be a hero. Don't you realize that? You would've made a terrible mother anyway."

I feel my heart pound strangely in my chest. It feels alive again.

"Katniss Everdeen, the symbol of the next 75 Hunger Games, a great, decrepit statue to remind all of the future tributes once more that they have no control, they have no power, they have no whim or will. They are part of a system. That's all I wanted, Katniss, a system. A safe operational system that keeps all of the good people of Panem in their place. They would collapse otherwise. They would collapse under a lying, foolish child like you at their helm."

My lungs fill up like there's been a pump applied. I hear his footsteps approach more closely.

"So what's your plan now, Katniss?" He hisses and I can smell him too near me. "Are you going to outrun me? I have men posted in every possible direction. They will all shoot you on sight. Are you hiding a bow and arrow somewhere and planning to strike me through the heart?"

He laughs.

"Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. I know you have something planned for me. I know you're hoping to sacrifice yourself and save the others. Are you going to blow me up? You think I don't know what District 13 is hiding down here?"

I don't think I move, but he must read a change in my expression.

"So that's it, is it? Are you going to flip a switch? Light a match? We go down together and you think that will change everything, do you? Well let me remind you, Katniss Everdeen," he steps closer still, "that you will die and disappear. Maybe even be considered a martyr for a cause that will be forgotten, but I am the president in a long line of men and women that have declared the same standards for Panem - standards that will never be erased. I might die with you, Katniss, I might even kill you before you can blink, but I am the one that will never be forgotten. I am the one that will live on."

There is shutter of wings and a black bird flies down and lands on my shoulder. I look back up towards the light that has been displaying me and see Snow only a few feet away. So close I can almost touch the rose tucked into his jacket. He has said enough and none of it matters.

I look at the mockingjay on my shoulder and whisper, "You're wrong."

There is a coo from the creature, and then the sound of my voice replies back in my face.

"You're wrong," it says. "You're wrong. You're wrong. You're wrong."

The mockingjay leaps off my body and into the air, calling louder the same words. Suddenly there is an echo, and then a third. I hear myself repeating the phrase more and more, a buzz and flap of wings getting louder and louder with it. Snow is distracted, but calm. He looks up.

"You're wrong!"

A giant roar of echoes suddenly explodes around us and I am surrounded by wings. I can't see, I can only hear. I hear Snow start to yell, but the mockingjays only pick up that sound and begin to echo it as well, making the roar of thousands of mockingjays a physical rumble. Without meaning to, they are scratching at my wounds and face as they swarm and I can't lift both arms to protect myself. I back up against a wall and am grabbed by a powerful force.

Snow!

I look to see his hand reaching through the black and I push back helplessly. Then more pain. I look again…there is a knife falling against my ribs, more blood than I thought I had left in me falling with it. And then his face. His blinding white face as the roar around us becomes deafening.

I can't tell if the walls are shaking now or if it's just me, but a rock falls at my feet and I start to think it might be bigger than my mind. More rocks. The whole caves are shaking.

"Katniss!" I hear Snow scream, but I push farther back against the wall and can't see a thing beyond the wings that keep kicking at my eyes and neck. And then warmth and light – a red glow beginning to eminate around the edge of everything. A different sort of roar.

There are so many things happening at once. Snow's screams, the echo of those screams or my voice roaring through thousands of mockingjay beaks, a vibrating hum from what can only be the nuclear reactor in the core of the Hiveline, and the shaking, crumbling tumble of the caves as they buckle under the pressure.

And then everything is black and I'm standing alone in an empty room. I blink and Peeta is there, holding a tiny wrapped package in his arms. He is smiling, whispering to it. I walk towards him and he says, "she just woke up." I feel my chest cave in. Am I happy, or sad? I try to speak, but nothing comes out. "Katniss?" he asks. "Katniss! Katniss what are you doing?" I feel something in my arms and suddenly I'm holding the package. With caution I push a piece of blanket away tiny hand emerges and wraps around my finger. "Katniss, give her back," Peeta continues with urgency, "Katniss, bring her back to me! Katniss! Bring her to me!" I try to hand her back, but my arms won't move. I feel the bundle in my arms getting heavier and heavier, like bricks and I can't hold it up. I can't reach out to pass it off. I stumble forward trying not to drop it.

I blink again and it's the screaming roar around me. I'm in the caves, on the ground and back against a wall, Snowing pinning me down, his eyes wild and obviously searching around me for the knife he had used earlier.

"Give her back to me, Katniss! Panem is mine!" He screams with crazy indignation.

And then it hits me. A revelation, a power. It's not physical, but it's strong enough to move my body. I lift a knee and nail him in the chest.

"Panem belongs to everyone!" I manage as I lurch forward and shove a boot into his chin.

The birds continue to swarm and I see a flash of silver inches away from my palm. Snow is on the ground now and I reach for it. The cold metal slides into my palm and I shove all my weight to pin him down to the ground. His blue eyes look at me with fear.

"The only liar is you, Snow. And the only thing forgotten will be your way of life. We are the last survivors of this Game, and I am about to win."

The blade slides through his flesh with force, cracking bone and landing in the horrible, pulsing organ that kept him murdering for far too long. He spits, he coughs, and he goes limp.

It take a minute for me to take this in, to realize what has just happened. And then it takes another minute for me to feel the burning heat of the ground. My heart beats and I feel alive. Barely, but actually. And then my hand touches my stomach and I feel a second heartbeat in my body – Peeta's. Our baby. Our world, our future.

Everything is blurry except for this: I don't know if I have enough time to make it out before this thing blows, but I have to try.

* * *

**_Well, it's been way too long. But I feel honored to be read by so many lovers of The Hunger Games, and obliged to finish this, even if it has been nearly two years. :) The end will finally come!_**


	19. The Caving Earth

_**Almost the end...**_

* * *

I can't see ahead of me, whether for the birds that fill the space or the blurriness that fills my eyes I am unsure. I can smell blood, but I know that it's more mine than Snow's and I cling to the wall to find my way out. The path jumbles in my mind, but it doesn't matter if I get it wrong, I suppose. I can't imagine making it out alive anyway, not like this, so there is no point in second guessing my steps. I just run the way my instinct takes me – no thoughts allowed to interrupt.

I can feel the ground humming and the rubber soles of my boots softening with the heat. It burns to touch the cave wall, but I don't dare separate yet. I can't tell if I'm running or walking. I hope that I'm running, but this speed is as fast as I seem to be able to go. The very last bits of adrenaline are being overpowered by weakness and dizziness. …Why am I even trying?

My head is pounding louder than my heart, my brain throbbing against my skull, but I will continue to race upwards. I keep seeing flashes – Snow, the knife in his chest, his eyes staring up as his soul disintegrates. Wings. Screams. I can sense closure, but it feels weary and heavy in my chest. My hand can't handle the heat anymore, but I can see now – only slightly and definitely for my eyes because there are no more birds near my head.

Wait – is that light? I swear I can see it, a small break ahead of me. Dim, dark moonlight. It gets bigger and my feet push harder. I must be so close. I'm not sure just how far or how fast I've run, but I think I'm there. Yes. I can feel air, fresh air. I inhale deeper and my lungs can barely handle it. I can't believe I've made it – I can't believe I'm this close.

The walls begin to shake harder and I know it's not just my body. I haven't come this far to get lost at the end! My feet pick up and I push with everything left inside of me towards the light, the air, the end. It's so close and yet I can't seem to get there fast enough. My body screams, everything is wrong inside of me.

I keep running, it has to be close – it has to be! I won't stop. Nothing can stop me, I have to make it. The whole earth seems to be collapsing around me and I can't even lift my arms to protect myself from falling rocks. Something slips behind my foot and I don't look back, but I imagine the earth caving in at my heels. Everything is so hot, like fire. I don't want to be consumed! I can't be!

I can't hear. I can't see. The roar around me continues to develop an extraordinary image in my mind and the idea of District 13 caving in behind me controls my brain enough to chance a look behind. I try to focus with the rush around me, but I'm confused. It takes a moment to understand and stops me in disbelief.

There is no tunnel! There is sky! I'm outside! Everything is shaking; a violent earthquake as the ground behind me is burning, glowing and screaming and boulders rumble and dump themselves into a strange, spinning vortex at the center of it all. I don't even know what I'm seeing anymore. I try to look around, but I can barely see beyond the smoke and dust. There would be no sense shouting for anyone else. Not one would hear. Maybe this is my end, to watch /the ground swallow me back in like some glorious dying star.

It's a spectacular sight, really, and for the first time since we've landed I feel like my mind is right with me again. The earth moving beneath me, the sweat pouring off my body from its heat…I am in awe at the display; I am in awe at my life and my part in this, and I am peaceful that Snow's body is buried in the boiling rubble.

But I begin to sway, it's all catching up. If I had kept running I might have been able to stand a minute longer, but I can now tell that I am soaked with my own blood and I graciously give thanks to the universe for letting me kill Snow and provide hope for a future world. With this thought, my body is limp and I feel myself falling towards the caving earth.

* * *

I have woken up in a hospital room too many times to count. I remember falling to the ground and then feeling stuck in midair as the hovercraft lifted me out of District 13. I remember a blur of faces and a lot of shouting. I remember confusion. I even remember dreaming of Prim and my mother and Peeta and our little house with the big windows to be filled with loving friends and family. But as my eyes adjusted to the bright lights and low beeps this time, I felt different. Unrepaired. Lonely.

Amazingly my limbs seemed to be intact, even though my arm was wrapped tightly with thick bandages. Maybe it was never as bad as I thought. I began to recall my wounds, thinking about the first gash, the second hit.

I try to lift my head, but it feels attached to the table. My neck aches with weight. I can move my fingers, but my toes make my belly ache. I try to lift a heel and my side splits open with pain. An audible groan escapes my lips and the sound of my own voice startles me. I moan again and rotate my head towards the side to try and get a better glance. I can't see. I can only feel it throbbing.

The beeping in the room gets louder, quicker. Like a siren to my aching ears.

What about my baby? What happened? Is it still here? I can't feel, I can't tell. I can't sense anything. My heart races wildly and I try to lift my head again.

The door slides open. Haymitch's face is both weary and fresh, but there is a concern and swiftness to his movements that makes my heart begin to pound harder.

"Katniss, Katniss. Stop. Don't move. You'll just hurt yourself more."

He looks more pained now. My mouth feels dry. It's hard to speak.

"Tell me," I manage to get out.

Two doctors are over me now and I want to yell but I can't seem to open my mouth far enough. They're talking to each other. Haymitch says something. The door opens again and I see Peeta's face. It's red and puffy and I know that he's been crying, but everything goes black before I can even consider why.

* * *

In my dreams I can see everyone I love and they are well. My father and mother are laughing together as Prim picks flowers from a field outside. Gale is strong and beautiful, his black hair smooth and his neck strong. I can almost feel his arms around me and his smile makes the sun feel even warmer on my cheeks. Haymitch looks sober, Plutarch seems easy. Finnick's smile is a bright light in against the blue sky. However, Peeta is not near me and even though there is color in his face and no limp in his walk, he seems to have a weight on his shoulders. He's watching a small child running towards the woods, but he doesn't follow. I feel the urge to call towards him, to not let the child get any further, but for some reason I don't feel like I can stop it. The sun is fading and the clouds are getting dark. I must stop the child – its going too far away. Why is Peeta letting it run? I open my mouth, but I can only wheeze. I cannot form words, and I begin to panic. Everyone is watching the child now. Will no one stop it?

"Katniss!"

I'm ripped from this dream world to a confusing real one at the sound of my name being called.

"Katniss! Can you hear me?"

It rips me away until my eyes slowly open to focus on Haymitch's face.

"Katniss, stay with me. Oh god, stay with us."

It takes a moment to see the panic on his face, and the panic behind the doctor's face next to him.

I sense a swarm around me, but everything is fuzzy and numb. Slowly I sense pressure around my shoulders and stomach. I feel a hand on my face, another wrapped around my own. The images from my dream are floating around behind my eyes and slowly pieces of a puzzle are coming together.

I let my eyes turn towards Haymitch and allow them to focus. My lips move and quietly a few sounds escape.

"I lost the baby."

Haymitch looks back and nods. And then he's pushed back by the doctor and I close my eyes again.

* * *

I haven't left this chair in two days. I don't eat the food they bring to me, I only drink the water. I accept the medication they force into my mouth in silence. Sometimes Peeta comes and sits with me and we do not say a word. He took my hand only once and I did not push it away, but I could not close my fingers with his. I just left my palm limp until he left me again.

I had been stabbed three times – once right after we landed, and twice more times by Snow in the Hiveline. I don't remember him attacking me more than once, and how I managed to escape after that no one seems to know. The hovercraft saw me shortly after I emerged and managed to raise me right as I collapsed with the rest of District 13. Haymitch said he was certain they would never see me again, that the figure emerging from the smoke was a ghost.

When I got into the hovercraft and they prepared to greet me with cheers, I was a mess of blood and bone and Peeta started screaming as if I was dead. Of course no one was surprised that I lost the baby in all this, but exactly at what point my body gave in, I don't know. I imagine it happened early in the mission. This would explain the pain and sickness and weakness that didn't make sense from just an arm wound. It doesn't really matter when, though. Wondering and dreaming about it doesn't bring it back.

I woke up three days after that barely able to move. The doctors told me it would wear off and I would just be sore.

Amazing. After all that, I can wake up and simply ache.

I wonder how long it takes before the ache in my chest goes away. Will it go away with the pain in my body?

It's been a week now and we are back at the Capitol, back in the room Peeta and I had discovered our child. In the same room we have to say goodbye to it.

When we first got back here I tried to sleep at night, but I would always see the same dream. The same images of a child melting, limb by limb, in front of me as Snow lit it on fire. So I got out of bed, walked to this chair in the window, and haven't left since. I stare out at the rubble, sometimes at the people wandering down below in search of a place to start rebuilding, sometimes at the children playing in the distance. Sometimes I am angry, sometimes I am relieved. Most of the time I am numb.

Gale comes and visits me and I welcome it more than anyone else. He survived, amazingly, just like I did, and with great thanks to Peeta for carrying him quickly and carefully out. We don't have to try and make awkward condolences to each other, and we can both feel justified in our bitterness. It could have been worse, but Gale would rather die than have to be confined to a wheelchair, and this is what he now has to live with. The doctors say he'll walk again, but to Gale that's just a hope, not a promise.

We don't have to say any words to understand each other's wounds. Neither of us will ever be the same. We can sit in the stillness next to each other and know that our nightmares are the same. But we cannot support each other for it when we are both in sorrow. Instead we wallow and let the memories feed until they have eaten away at everything and we do not remember anymore.

It was Johanna that convinced me to wake up when she came by earlier this afternoon.

"Stop it," she had said. "These people have grieved enough for you and your losses. It's time we all started moving on. We won't celebrate this moment in our history – we will forever mourn it. But we will mourn it in a way that allows us to feel alive and grateful in the place we are now. This year: taking one brick to build a house. Next year: painting the bricks and planting gardens. Always moving forward. Thank you for your sacrifices, Katniss. But don't make yourself pay for them."

And then she got up and left. She didn't try to touch me or say something gentle. She told me to stop and lift my eyes to her and acknowledge that the clock was still beating seconds forward, that my heart was unbelievably pulsing life into my flesh.

So when my foot finally touched the carpet beneath the chair I take a second to remember what it feels like and thank the universe for toes that can feel it. I inhale and walk towards the bathroom, my legs stiff and creaky. The shower haunts me with the memory of the first moment I had taken pale branch and learned of the small creature in my belly, but I let the steam from the hot water fill the room and blur it away. It feels good to shower. As I wash away the stink off my skin, I notice the scars along my side and make it a point to look away when I clean my stomach. I try to ignore all the times I had gently touched this spot imagining the child inside pushing back and let the soap run off on its own. Every day will be an effort. Every hour even more so. But Johanna is right. I am alive. I should not let myself die.

Peeta's voice distracts me from these thoughts.

"Katniss?" he calls quietly.

I clear my throat. "Yeah."

"I brought you some dinner…" he says meekly, as if I'll return with fire.

"Thank you," is all I can manage. I still don't know what to say to him. I can barely even think the words to say to myself. How strangely I went from being incapable of keeping secrets, to completely unable to even hold his gaze without shame. I know that Peeta is grieving with me – I can hear him crying at night when he thinks I'm asleep. I just try to pretend like there's a different reason he cries, one that doesn't involve me.

I let the shower run until the water turns cold. I didn't bring a towel in with me – I hadn't thought of it. I don't care. I walk naked into the room and see Peeta looking wide-eyed and awkward back. My closet is close and I disappear into it looking for comfortable clothes as he clears his throat. I don't think he knows what to say to me either.

When I emerge our eyes meet, even though I have tried to avoid this every chance I get. I can't handle the pain that shoots through my body – his eyes strike me as if they're clubs made of metal and sharp spikes. It's strange the void that has developed between us, like air that makes it difficult to press in – a bubble directly between our chests that pushes us backwards when we step closer.

He shakes his head, as if to shake off his dreams, and points at a tray of food. "They asked about you again…"

"…that's nice," I reply quietly.

We're still standing here in awkward air. I take a step back towards the window and Peeta steps forward.

Katniss…" he starts, but his voice trails off.

I watch him for a moment, almost cowering like a dog about to be abused. I can feel the pain surging again and I can't decide if I am strong enough to withstand the blow. A million thoughts run through my mind – happy and sad, hopeful, frustrated, lonely, lost. I feel like I've let him down, like I've lost an important part of his soul I never knew about before. A part of my own soul that never existed until a few months ago. But I can't control it – my chest begins to heave. The space between us begins to close and the pressure around the bubble is so tight I can feel it about to pop and launch us into each other's arms.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, and tears swell in my cheeks and begin to pour out of my dark eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Peeta rushes to my side and throws his arms around me. "There's nothing to be sorry about Katniss. It's okay. It's okay."

I feel his heart pounding as I wrap myself into his embrace. I can hear him crying with me and I don't know how long we go that way. It doesn't matter. How selfishly I try to forget that Peeta has lost his child as well. How inept I feel to apologize for it. This baby that I had loved, this child that I had dreamed of was not just mine.

Somehow we end up in a puffy-cheeked pile on the bed, my head resting tightly against his chest. I can feel my eyes closing in the safety of this position. No one will ever make me feel as safe as Peeta does. No one will ever soothe my pain like him. I can sit in silence with Gale, suffering together, but never healing. With Peeta I seem to forget the way that my wounds stitch themselves closed.

I take in a deep breath. It's funny how you can lose something and feel so incomplete, when just a couple months ago you never even imagined it could exist.

Peeta exhales and kisses the top of my head. I let my eyes seal shut and decide not to open them until morning. I have a feeling that tonight I won't have anymore nightmares, but I ask the universe for dreams. Maybe one where I can follow the child into the woods and find where it's hiding. Not to bring it back, but to enjoy it where it has wandered off to. I'll never have the same life or this same child again, but I will always have my heart to recall the losses in love and peace.

* * *

_**Thank you for sticking it out! The final, closing chapter almost ready. Thank you SO much for reading and being faithful reviewers and returning fans. You're all wonderful.**_


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